Try
by In Hiding
Summary: COMPLETE/GSR. Sometimes the only solution to an unsolvable problem is simply to TRY. Some of what we saw and most of what we didn't see of Grissom and Sara's relationship in seasons 6 and 7. Canonical.
1. Prologue

Rating: K  
Spoilers: Mild  
Content Warning: G/S  
Disclaimer: All rights to CSI: Crime Scene Investigation and its characters belong to Anthony E. Zuiker, and CBS Broadcasting, Inc. / Alliance Atlantis Productions, Inc. / Jerry Bruckheimer Television. No infringement intended.  
A/N: This is a rewrite of an unfinished story I posted here a few years ago under my real name but have since pulled. It is my intention to merge it with the current timeline (up to the end of season 7) and finally complete it. This story begins prior to Grissom and Sara's relationship.

Summary: _Sometimes the only solution to an unsolvable problem is simply to TRY._

**PROLOGUE: CHANGE**

Something had changed.

Sara wasn't able to place it, exactly, but something had definitely changed. Changed in the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. Maybe it was because FINALLY he was actually looking and speaking again.

Yet any feeling of hope was automatically squelched by the memory of the hurt past hopes had caused. This didn't have the air of advancement about it, but of backtracking, and she knew in her heart that if she was to survive, she needed to keep pushing forward.

So she pushed. Life went on. But something had changed.


	2. Where actions are noticed

**PART 1: WHERE ACTIONS ARE NOTICED**

"Sara, you're with me."

This was becoming more frequent after a long and deliberate spell of working separately, yet it still surprised her. "Sure, Griss. You grab the kits - I'm driving."

It was well past midnight, and Sara's favourite time to drive through the city. The roads were busy, but uncrowded enough that one could afford to take in the scenery. The lights of the strip had always fascinated her, and she would often mull over how such a gaudy and unnatural sight could carry a degree of beauty in it.

They were almost there, and Grissom still hadn't spoken. When she turned to look at him, she was unnerved to find him staring at her, or perhaps through her. "Griss?"

His features flickered to register his embarrassment, but he didn't look away. "Hmm?"

"You gonna give me the run down, or you want me to be surprised?"

"Oh." He looked down at the file in his hands. "DB on the sidewalk. Jumper, maybe."

"Yeah, that's what you said in assignments."

"Oh," he said again. A pause. "So, how are you?"

"Grissom!" she said a little loudly, as though to snap him out of whatever daze he was in. "The case?" She was careful to smile. They'd both had enough of annoyance and angry sarcasm, and had both had occasion to respond badly to them. If moving forward meant she needed to smile through her confusion, she would smile.

Grissom sighed and adjusted his glasses. He finished reading the few details he had as they pulled up to the scene.

They returned to the lab a few hours later with their evidence, working mostly separately to process the pieces, but near the end of the shift they met in his office to pull it all together.

Sara found beauty in this, too. The process of taking evidence and science and instinct and weaving them together to recreate down to the smallest detail a moment they had never witnessed. To play it in her mind, to act it out as though she were really a part, to see what the victim saw.

Unlike him, she had always been interested in beauty.

This time, she was to play the aggressor, reenacting the violence that preceded the victim's long fall to the pavement. "He would have had to hold the vic up against the wall with one hand while he opened the window." She pressed her hand against Grissom's chest. "That would explain the blood and fibre transfer."

"You were probably holding me on my feet; the head wound indicates I would have been barely conscious at the time."

"Which would explain the scratch marks on the vic's chest - I'm trying to get a better grip."

"And then you push me."

"With your head wound, I'd say you fell pretty good on your own."

"Then you call the police from your cell and report a jumper... Phone records from the 911 call confirm that it was immediately after the incident."

"But I'm too stupid to leave the scene. And a beautiful and talented CSI happens to see me lurking around and has me detained for questioning."

"And her brilliant and dashing supervisor finds the DNA evidence that nails you for murder," he quipped back, his tone dry as ever.

They both smiled. "Good work, Sara. If you hadn't gone with your instincts and detained him, we may never have found him."

"Thanks, Griss. And I assume that means that YOU'LL be staying to write this one up while I take my beauty, talent and instinct home to get some sleep?"

He narrowed his eyes and grumbled. "Don't "brilliant and dashing" count for anything these days?"

She bit back a reply and paused instead, eyeing him. "We'll see," she told him finally, giving him a small smile.

The humour faded from his eyes, and he looked away.

"See you, Griss," she threw at him casually, but as she exited his office, what had just occurred was not lost on her. He had looked away.

Gil Grissom never looked away.

**END OF PART 1**


	3. Where words are said

**PART 2: WHERE WORDS ARE SAID**

It was always hard when it was a child.

When things were winding down, Catherine and Sara opted to rage and even cry together in the locker room. The boys handled their emotions in solitude. Even Grissom was affected; he'd been the one to first discover the two half-starved little girls, and he'd been there peering through the tinted hospital window when the younger of the two had ceased to fight.

"Children shouldn't die." His words had been barely a whisper, and the sorrow behind them had caused Catherine to turn toward him and rest her forehead on his shoulder. He said nothing as her tears soaked through his shirt. How much harder a reality for a mother to see, he considered, watching still as the doctors ended their efforts and filed somberly from the room.

Back in his office later, writing up the reports, it was not lost on Grissom that each member of his team had stopped at his doorway to say goodbye before leaving. Sara was the last.

"Hey." She leaned against the wall just inside his door. "You okay?"

He removed his glasses and sat back in his chair to examine her appearance. "Tough night. For all of us."

Sara looked mildly surprised, as though it was more of an admission than she had expected. "You should go home."

"I'm nearly through." He continued to look at her, but she didn't squirm. He supposed she was used this kind of appraisal from him. "You leaving?"

"Got to pick my stuff up from the locker room, and then I'm gone. Unless there's anything you need me to do before I go. Tonight's my night off," she added unnecessarily; he had made the schedule, after all.

"No, not that I can think of."

"Okay. Well, bye then." She turned to leave.

"Sara."

He was still watching her. His intensity hadn't wavered.

"Yeah?"

"We should go get breakfast."

She blinked. "You mean, with the others?" This was something of a tradition after a tough case. He would take them all out and buy them a meal.

He leaned forward slightly. "No, I thought just you and I could go."

She looked down briefly, thinking, but it didn't take her long to arrive at her answer.

"No."

She said it just as calmly as he once had, as though to answer any other way would be ridiculous, out of the question.

"But Sara-"

"NO, Grissom. Don't even bother. I -" She paused, still calm, resigned. "I don't want to go here again."

"I don't understand. I thought-"

"No, obviously you don't understand." She didn't raise her voice; her nonchalance stood in stark contrast to her sentiment. "If you understood, you wouldn't have dared to even ask me because you would have realized that a whole lot needed to be said before you had a right."

During her proclamation he had stood and walked around his desk. "Sara, I know I hurt you. I..." He trailed off. The words just weren't there.

"You what, Grissom?" A pause. "You have my attention. If there's something you want to say, here's your chance." She bravely stared back at him, her expression unreadable, waiting. Finally, "I didn't think so." Her small smile was almost pitying. "Bye, Grissom." She turned and walked briskly out the door.

"Sara!" he called after her, and to the surprise of both of them, his voice nearly broke. He would later claim the left over emotion from the night's events, but that had only given him the excuse to feel this much.

It was enough to give her pause, but she didn't turn back before continuing down the hallway toward the locker room to retrieve her things.

Grissom stood alone in the middle of his office, the hand that had outstretched as though to pull her back now falling to his side. Helpless. Hopeless. Silent.

Until finally, the words came.

He tore from his office, jogging down the hallway, hoping, praying he hadn't missed her. His thoughts so consumed him that he nearly missed the door. Slightly out of breath, he looked inside.

She was there.

Sitting on the bench, head in her hands, crying quietly. She didn't notice his arrival, didn't hear his approach, didn't look up when he crouched down before her, his hands resting gently just above her knees. "Sara..."

"Go to hell." Now came the ire. Not so much for all that had transpired between them, but for the fact that once more she was reduced to being more vulnerable than she wanted him to see.

"Sara, I am so sorry. Please..."

She still wouldn't look at him. "Do you even know what you're sorry for?"

He sighed. "So many things, Sara. I'm sorry for isolating myself from you. I'm sorry for letting my fear get the better of me. I'm sorry for never having the words when I saw that I was hurting you. I'm sorry for always making you have to guess what was going on in my head, when I just should have told you. And most of all..."

He stopped. A part of him needed to make sure she was listening, because he may never have this kind of courage again.

"What?" Her voice was so small, so fearful.

"Most of all, Sara, I'm sorry that I said "no" to you that day, when every part of me wanted to say "yes"."

Nearly a minute passed as Grissom waited for any sign that he had been heard, any hint of forgiveness. And then her forehead came to rest against his. Tears immediately sprung to his eyes, but he made no move to wipe them away. He was terrified of breaking contact with her, as though the moment would be lost.

"What do you want from me, Grissom?"

"You don't have to give me anything, Sara. All I ask is that you let me try to make it up to you."

His legs hurt from crouching, but he didn't want to move until he knew they would be okay. He couldn't.

And then she looked up, and nodded so slightly it was almost imperceptible. But Grissom knew what it meant.

Permission granted.

A rush of relief washed through him, and tears fell from his eyes for an entirely different reason than before. He wanted to embrace her, to thank her, to make promises and plans, but he did nothing. It nearly killed him to keep himself still.

"Bye, Grissom. See you in a few days."

She was dismissing him, in the middle of all the uncertainty. But as he returned to his office, he reveled in the fact that where once there would have been fear, something else had replaced it.

Hope.

**END OF PART 2**


	4. Where conditions are set

**PART 3: WHERE CONDITIONS ARE SET**

She wasn't nervous, and it surprised her.

The part of her brain that tended to run too fast and theorize too much was strangely and mercifully silent. She had no expectations, no butterflies, and while she fought against any twinges of hope that might fight their way into her consciousness, she couldn't deny that her curiosity over what might take place lifted her. Everything felt lighter somehow.

The mood she thought was her own was apparently not. In the break room, the team seemed mellow and free. They talked, they drank coffee, and they waited for Grissom. Sara waited with them.

When he arrived, he was almost smiling. Instead of causing suspicion that something must be up, it only served to lighten the mood more.

"Warrick, Nicky, MVA. Looks like it'll be interesting - keep me posted. And for the ladies, a suspected murder-suicide near the Strip; Brass is there waiting for you. I'm going solo on what looks like a standard B&E. That's it. Have fun, everyone!"

And away they all went.

There was no special look, no special touch, no indication that anything had changed. Just business as usual and an almost-smile.

Curious.

Hours later, back from the field and knee-deep in evidence, Sara wondered if Grissom would find an excuse to run into her that night. But she only saw him once, in Trace, and any conversation that might have ensued was cut off by a ringing cell phone and a beckoning lab tach.

That almost-smile was still there, though, and it widened ever so slightly when he caught her eye.

It was almost the afternoon when she and Catherine were finally able to put their case to bed. Her feet hurt, she was tired, and Grissom had left hours before. As she headed to the locker room to retrieve her purse, she wondered exactly how Grissom defined "try".

But in the back of her locker, suspended by a purple ribbon from the empty coat hook, was a white, long-stemmed rose. And right away she decided that his definition could potentially be quite enjoyable to explore.

Yes, everything felt lighter somehow.

**END OF PART 3**


	5. Where games are played

**PART 4: WHERE GAMES ARE PLAYED**

"Excuse me, gentlemen, but don't you have work you could be doing?"

Grissom had entered the break room in search of caffeine and of her. Instead he found two of his CSI's with shoes off, feet up, and game controllers in hand.

"We're on break," Warrick told him without looking up.

"Yes, I gathered that. But haven't your breaks been getting longer since I let you bring that... THING in here?"

"No way, boss, " Nick spoke up. "Warrick sets his watch alarm. We're totally above board here." As if to prove the point, Warrick's watch began to beep. "See? We're done. Back to work."

Grissom just shook his head. "Alright, boys, you win. Now get out of here."

"Yes, sir." Nick gave a mock salute, and he and Warrick left the break room chuckling.

Grissom examined the coffee carefully and decided it was still safe to ingest. He grabbed a clean mug from the shelf and poured himself a cup, testing his hypothesis. Barely palatable, but it would do. He sat on the couch the others had just vacated and picked up a science magazine.

He was distracted though, curious about the appeal. He'd never really played video games, and he'd even deleted Minesweeper from his PC. Unnecessary distractions, he had deemed. Not to mention that he saw enough real violence in a day that he didn't need to fill his head with simulated violence, too.

Oh, what the hell. He'd read this issue several times anyway.

He clicked on the TV, pressed power on the system, and picked up a controller.

About ten minutes later he heard a familiar voice behind him. "You're not very good."

"And you're not very tactful," Grissom deadpanned, but inside he was smiling.

Sara walked around the couch and reached over to hit the reset button.

"HEY!"

"Let's go two player," she explained. "I'll take you to school."

"Unlikely," he shot back, but he knew he was toast. He was just happy to have her there; the fact that he was about to be humiliated was unimportant.

She flopped down on the couch next to him, keeping a careful distance, and picked up the other controller. As she went through the settings, she spoke. "Thanks for the flower."

"You're welcome," he replied, keeping his eyes focused on the TV. "Did you like it?" he broached cautiously.

"Very much."

"Well... you know... I try."

At that, she relaxed, chuckled, afforded him a grin. And grinning back, he prepared to accept his fate. "Alright, Miss Sidle, take me to school."

"You're on."

**END OF PART 4**


	6. Where attempts are made

**PART 5: WHERE ATTEMPTS ARE MADE**

It was after 9 a.m., and Nick and Sara were almost finished bagging and tagging the evidence to send off to the district attorney. They were tired but elated over the way things had come together.

Grissom appeared at the door. "You two about finished?"

Nick answered him, "Give us another five or so. Why, what's up?"

"It feels like a good day to head to Frank's."

"I agree. You buying?" Nick reached across Sara to grab another label.

"Of course." Grissom looked meaningfully at Sara. "You coming, too?"

Her hesitation was brief, but not unnoticed by Grissom or Nick. "Yeah, sure. We'll meet you guys there."

Grissom left, and the two CSI's continued to work. It took Nick a minute before he dared to broach, "How are things between you and Griss, Sara?"

She looked at him sharply. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "I just…wanted to know."

At his sincerity, her defenses lowered a bit. "Things are...getting better, I think."

He squeezed her hand. "I'm glad to hear it." Then, grinning, he added, "I was getting kind of tired of all the bickering and weirdness around here lately. Now hurry up; I'm hungry."

When Nick and Sara arrived at the restaurant, the others, including Brass, had already assembled. Nick sat down beside Warrick on one side of the booth, with Catherine against the wall, and Brass slid out of his seat so that Sara could slip in between he and Grissom. No explanation of his action was given, and later Sara wondered why he had done that.

"We already ordered," Catherine informed the newcomers. "We asked for a few of the huge breakfast platters and some extra plates. Is that okay?"

"Sounds great," Nick answered agreeably, and then at Warrick's insistence ran down the final details of the case they'd all been pulled onto.

"You did good last night, Sara." The voice was low, close to her ear. "I was very impressed by the way you handled that interview."

She looked at Grissom from the corner of her eye and smiled slightly, but didn't speak. She couldn't tell him yet, but she was wary of this kind of attention from him, never knowing what his motives were, or how much of his sentiment was objective.

The food arrived, and the conversation strayed from work. Sara didn't say much, but she was happy to be there; it was comforting to be with these people, to be able to relax and not worry about time-sensitive evidence or the politics of their jobs.

Grissom seemed more animated than usual, joking with the boys, trading sarcasm with Brass, sharing a strawberry smoothie with Catherine across the table. He didn't try again to engage Sara outright, for which she was grateful, but neither did she feel ignored by him. Something about his body language, his expression, the way he would meet her eye, it all made her feel very included in what was going on.

Brass and Nick left first, but the rest lingered over another cup of coffee and discussed how things were changing, with new policies and a new sheriff. Then Grissom called for the cheque, and the four headed to the parking lot. Warrick and Catherine had gotten spaces near the door, so were the first to call their goodbyes and drive off.

Grissom walked Sara to her car, holding the door as she climbed inside. "Thanks again for breakfast, Grissom."

"I'm glad you came."

"Me, too." She smiled. "Well, I guess I'll see you tonight."

"Sara, umm..." He shifted uncomfortably. "I was wondering if perhaps you wanted to get together tonight before work. Just to… I don't know. To talk, maybe."

Her smile faded a bit. "Griss..."

"I'm sorry," he said immediately, meaning it. "I didn't mean to push."

"No, you're not pushing," she absolved him. "I just... Not yet, okay?" She looked at him hopefully, willing him to understand.

He did. "Okay," he told her, his eyes smiling. It had been worth a try. "Have a good sleep."

"You, too." As he stepped away, she closed her door and started the vehicle. Then as an afterthought, she rolled down the window. "Hey, Grissom!" she called after him.

He turned. "Yes?"

"Keep trying!"

And she drove away.

**END OF PART 5**


	7. Where efforts are rewarded

**PART 6: WHERE EFFORTS ARE REWARDED**

Sara had never been so mortified. Never.

She and Grissom were on a case together, the first since their agreement. When they arrived at the scene, a distinctly green looking officer greeted them, and a distinct rotting-flesh smell assaulted their noses.

"Officer?" Grissom questioned. "Aren't you going to escort us to the body?"

The man froze for a moment, then cocked his head to the right. "It's over there." Sara and Grissom shared a look of amusement and followed the officer's direction.

It didn't take long to realize what the issue was. One look at the body and Sara gagged.

"If you're going to compromise the crime scene, Sara, at least take a few steps away."

She tried to take deep breaths to calm herself, but that only made it worse. She backed up toward a clump of bushes, and then her dinner became part of the landscape.

Mortified.

She could feel him watching her. No doubt he thought it was funny. She couldn't turn around.

And then he was there beside her. He didn't speak, but he offered her a bottle of water from his pack, which she accepted.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, so embarrassed she could barely stand him being so close.

"Here, can you take this and go talk to the officer?" He handed her a plastic evidence bag containing what must have been the victims wallet. "Find out what you can about how he was found, and then call Greg and have him run the name on the driver's license."

He was giving her an out, and she gratefully took it.

Later, driving back, Sara wouldn't look at him. She just stared out the passenger side window and chewed several pieces of gum, trying to get the taste out of her mouth.

Finally, Grissom couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Don't worry about it, Sara. It's nothing to be embarrassed about."

She raised her eyebrows. "I've never seen YOU throw up at a crime scene."

"That's because you've only been working with me for a few years."

She eyed him incredulously. "Really?"

He nodded, smiling. "Really. I practically vomited on a victim once, before the scene was processed. If my supervisor had been there, I'm sure I would have been tarred and feathered."

She chuckled. "At least I had the control to walk away."

"Barely," he reminded her. "You feeling better now, or should I be prepared to pull over?"

He was teasing her. This was a good sign. "That depends. How much do you like those shoes?"

"I'll take that as a "yes". I'm glad to hear it; this could be a long night. I need you on this."

It was a long night. After escaping to the locker room and grabbing her toothbrush, finally able to fully rid herself of that awful taste, she joined him in the autopsy bay, this time managing to keep her stomach in check. She was gratified to see that even Doc Robbins looked a little green. Then it was up to the lab, then to Grissom's office, to suspect interviews, back to the lab.

And then, around one in the afternoon, it was over. Grissom's "holy trinity" was in place, evidence was sent to the D.A., and it was time to go home.

Thank God. Sara was dead on her feet and hungry as hell, her stomach having fully recovered from the night's unpleasantness. Before she headed for home, however, she stopped by Grissom's office.

"Grissom?" He didn't stir. His head was down on his desk, resting on his folded arms.

A smile came unbidden to Sara's lips. She walked around his desk and cleared a space for herself to half-sit, half-lean on its surface. She laid a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. "Hey, Griss?"

He opened one eye to identify the intruder. "Sara?" He sat up quickly, breaking the contact. "What time is it?"

"I'd say it's well past time for you to go home." She was still grinning, now at the way his hair stuck up a bit on one side.

It was his turn to be embarrassed. "Please tell me I wasn't drooling."

"Griss, you saw me THROW UP today. Do you really think I would give you a hard time over a little drool?" She lifted a hand and smoothed down his hair, running her fingers through it, trying to tame it. "If I really wanted to be vindictive, I would have let you walk out of here with bed-head. Very chic, I might add."

"Well thank you," he said seriously, but his eyes betrayed his amusement.

"And thank _you_, for today."

His expression asked the question.

"For letting me off so easy," she explained. "For... I don't know. Just, thank you."

He said nothing, did nothing, waiting to see what would happen next. And he was well rewarded for his patience.

Sara leaned close and brushed her lips lightly against his cheek. "Bye." And then she was gone.

**END OF PART 6**


	8. Part 7: Where boundaries are explored

**PART 7: WHERE BOUNDARIES ARE EXPLORED**

"Sara, I need to pull you from this."

She stopped dead in the middle of her angry tirade. "You're kidding me, right?"

Grissom had wondered how he would handle it, when the time came to really crack down as her supervisor. And now he knew --- he would handle it just the way he always had. "I'm going to put Warrick on this. You go with Nick on their case." 

Sara was speechless. Her mouth was literally hanging open. 

"Sara, you almost hit that man. You really couldn't expect me to leave you on this one. I've never seen you this riled up!"

She slowly shook her head. "Trust me, Gil Grissom, you haven't seen anything yet." She stalked out of the break room, heading who-knows-where to walk off a full head of steam before joining Nick.

"Glad to know I have something to look forward to," he mumbled to himself as he went off to find Warrick.

Hours later he walked into his office to find her sitting behind his desk. He braced himself, and closed the door behind him. "Hey, Sar."

She pointed an accusing finger at him. "I'm still mad at you, so don't get any ideas." 

"You're in my chair."

She drew her legs up to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She suddenly looked very young. "I thought you'd allow it. Was I wrong?"

His voice softened. "No. Of course not." He took the chair opposite her. "Something you want to say to me?" 

"Something I want to ask."

"Okay, shoot." He watched her intently as she gathered her thoughts. 

"You were very "business-as-usual" today. And I'm glad," she qualified quickly. "Don't get me wrong, I _am_ glad. I didn't want for things to become complicated. It just made me wonder..."

"Yes?" he encouraged, after several seconds had passed.

"Was it always just "business-as-usual" when you'd do stuff like that? Because..." Her smile was self-berating. "Because I used to get so mad at you when I thought you were making it personal, that either you were pissed off at me or trying to protect me or rein me in, whatever. But if in your head it wasn't personal... than maybe that changes things."

It took him a moment to respond. He didn't understand where this was going, but he was suddenly very glad they were having this discussion. He'd fought with himself about this so many times, trying to reconcile his feelings for her with how angry she made him, with how childish she'd been acting. "Changes things in what way?"

"In a way that makes me feel the need to apologize. Because I have been such a total bitch to you."

"Oh." He carefully weighed his response, not bothering to deny her own assessment. She'd been intolerable. "Well, let's just say that yes, those times that I pulled you I felt that I was doing things by the book, and doing what was best for the team. "Business-as- usual", you call it. But I should also add that it in some cases, it was definitely personal."

She didn't try to hide her confusion. "In what way?"

"I hated seeing you hurt that much." 

The silence that followed his abrupt statement was heavy, tense. He watched as she seemed to carefully examine his pencil holder, his bug collection, looking anywhere but at him. Finally she nodded, and stood. "That's all I needed to know." And she walked to the door.

"Hey, don't I get an apology?" he called, unable to help himself.

"Don't push your luck, Grissom. I'm still mad at you."

**END OF PART 7**


	9. Part 8: Where moments are enjoyed

**PART 8: WHERE MOMENTS ARE ENJOYED**

There were very few moments in Sara's life that she wished she could have captured somehow. She'd missed out on things she would have found important: seeing her father cry at her college graduation, or getting that puppy she'd begged for since she was old enough to beg. Having her mom take her driving for the first time. Experiences robbed from her by no fault of her own.

That's not to say there were no mental snapshots she could return to. She remembered well her first date, her first kiss, the first day she really felt _safe_ in a place she knew was _hers.  
_  
In the past few days, there had been several of these special moments. Not so special to outside eyes, perhaps, but important in their own way. Moments that Sara wished she could store away in a "Grissom" scrapbook so that one day she could look back with better perspective and know for sure where it had all been leading.

On Monday, it had been the soda and the quiet.

She had decided to take her break outside, as she sometimes did. There was a rarely used side entrance with large concrete steps that offered nothing but privacy and fresh air, but it was one of her favourite places to go and think. She would prop the door open and sit on the steps, staring blankly past the chain-link fence and into the brick wall of the adjacent building. On these steps, her mind had supplied many breakthroughs for cases. On these steps, she had decided to leave Vegas, and decided to stay again, a thousand times over. She had cried, dealt with anger, even prayed on these steps.

But not on Monday.

Monday's journey to the out-of-doors was only to sit, to hum, to eat her sandwich and to relax. It was quiet here, and she liked it.

Her cell phone was set on vibrate. She answered it. "Sidle."

"Hey, where are you?" 

She smiled at the familiar voice. "I'm hiding. Is there something you need?"

"Just a pair of fresh eyes. Do you have a minute?"

"Sure," she replied. "I'll tell you how to find me as long as you promise not to tell anyone else where I go to escape."

"Deal." 

"Oh, and bring a flashlight."

Grissom joined her on the steps about five minutes later. "I'm assuming you don't come out here for the scenery." He sat down next to her on the concrete and opened the file he was holding, setting it across her lap. "Take a look at this for me, will you?" 

They were both sitting cross-legged, and Grissom's arm was extended behind her, leaning to support his weight while he held the flashlight for her in his left hand. She was very aware of his closeness, almost to the point of distraction.

Minutes passed. She closed the file, and he switched off the flashlight. "I don't know, Grissom. Just let me think for a bit."

So they sat in the quiet, and they both sipped from her can of soda. And while she pondered the details of his case, she also realized that she was beginning to trust him again.

On Wednesday, it was the accident.

Grissom had never been particularly clumsy, but occasionally, accidents happened. He was working in the lab when he stumbled, placing his hand on a countertop to steady himself but not seeing the empty test tube laying on its side. He crushed the glass, and began to swear a blue streak.

Sara was in the room next door and was the first to respond to this uncharacteristic display. "Grissom, what on earth is going on!?" Then she saw the blood. "What did you do?"

"I broke a damn test tube." He held up his hand. "I think I got glass in it."

She examined the damage carefully. "Go wash it out. I'll clean up the mess in here, and then I'll grab a first aid kit and meet you in your office." She said it in no uncertain terms, and he immediately obeyed.

In his office, she sat sideways on his couch with his hand palm-up on her lap. Using tweezers, she removed the last of the glass with a steady hand, then applied some rubbing alcohol and a bandage. "All done. I think you'll live."

He curled his fingers around hers for a moment. "Thank you."

Making no move to break the contact, she replied, "No problem." Then, feeling bold, she quipped, "But really, Griss, if you want us to play doctor, there must be a better way of going about it."

The look on his face was priceless, perfect.

On Saturday, it was the wake-up call.

Sara had pulled a double shift, trying in vain to get a case wrapped up. Finally, she couldn't deny her need for sleep any longer. She considered going home, but since she needed to be back in five hours anyway, she decided to stay and crash there.

Grissom was long gone, and she knew he wouldn't mind, so she curled up on his office couch and quickly fell asleep. 

Before she even opened her eyes, she knew that something was strange. She laid still, flat on her back, and realized that sometime during her slumber her legs had been slightly elevated, and her shoes removed.

"Good morning," said a mildly teasing voice. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"Grissom?" 

He was reading. Files were spread out over her legs, which in turn were lying across his lap. "You were occupying my "thinking couch". And I needed to think."

"How long have you been here?" She wasn't sure how she should feel about this. Embarrassed? Angry over his presumption?

As it was, she was just "okay". This was perfectly okay with her. It was good to feel "okay" again.

"Over an hour. Unlike you, I put in my overtime BEFORE shift starts." 

She checked her watch. Still another half hour before she needed to go grab a shower. "I didn't want to go home," she explained. "I finished up really late. I didn't want to waste sleeping time on traveling back and forth, so..."

"No explanation necessary. My couch is your couch." His mouth turned up at the corners, the equivalent of a full-scale Grissom-grin.

"In that case, I'm going back to sleep for awhile." And she closed her eyes again.

Not that she slept. She felt his cool hand rest on her calf, listened to him breathe. And she thought about things. Mostly, she thought about the moments like this one, and how she didn't want to forget.

**END OF PART 8**


	10. Part 9: Where fears are discussed

**PART 9: WHERE FEARS ARE DISCUSSED**

They talked a lot more now, but never about THAT. It was always the elephant in the room, though the elephant was getting smaller by the day. Still, it seemed to Grissom that they SHOULD talk about it. It was the silence, after all, that had once made things go so terribly wrong.

His intentions were good. His approach needed a little work.

"Sara, we need to talk." 

She looked up at him sharply, over the dead body between them. "We do?"

"Yes." The autopsy bay was empty, except for they and the dead. It seemed like as good of opportunity as any. But he was taken aback by the look in her eyes. 

Don't hurt me, Grissom.

It was as plain to him as if she had said the words aloud. "Sara, you don't have to be afraid of me." It just slipped out.

"Sometimes that's all I have, Griss." He could tell by her reaction to her own statement that it had been equally impulsive.

"Sara..." 

Doc Robbins arrived suddenly, startling them both. "Hey, you two. Sorry I'm late. What have we got?"

Later, he found her in her hiding place, a blanket wrapped around her. "It's a little cold to be communing with the concrete," he said conversationally.

She didn't turn around. "You're probably right. It seems I need to find a new hiding place anyway." 

"Or maybe you should just stop hiding from me." He was shocked once again by his own boldness, and held his breath as he waited for her response.

She held open one side of the blanket in invitation.

Joining her on the step, he tugged the blanket around his shoulders. He was pressed flush to her side; there was no choice if the small covering was to be at all effective. "Why are you so afraid?" He wasted no time. This was who they were.

"It's complicated."

"You're complicated."

"We're at work."

"We have time."

"I'm not ready to risk letting you hurt me again."

And that was that.

"Oh." What else was there to say? He could promise not to hurt her, but there were no guarantees. Neither of them were very good at all this, by their own admissions. Mistakes would be made. No doubt there would be hurt. But how could he communicate all of this to her and still have there be hope between them?

It turned out it wasn't necessary. It seemed that she already understood.

"But Grissom... when I'm ready, you'll know." With that, she stood and went back inside, leaving him to share his bemused expression with the chain-link fence and the brick wall.

This felt like progress.

**END OF PART 9**


	11. Part 10: Where friendships are sealed

**PART 10: WHERE FRIENDSHIPS ARE SEALED**

"It wasn't that you said "no", you know." 

They'd been working in companionable silence for over an hour, he behind his desk, she on his "thinking couch". It made paperwork more bearable to suffer through it together.

Grissom looked up, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"It really wasn't so bad that you said "no" to me that night. That wasn't what hurt."

Realizing that even if she let him return to his work his concentration would be completely blown, he removed his glasses and came to join her on the couch.

Sara closed her laptop and set it on the floor, turning toward him. "It was the way you shut me out afterwards. You ignored me, you avoided me. Sometimes you were actually mean to me."

He tried not to feel defensive. "You weren't exactly Miss Mary Sunshine yourself, you know. But you're right. It was complicated." 

"Nothing's THAT complicated."

Grissom sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "You knew about what was going on with my hearing."

"I know now. I didn't know then. And frankly, I'd assumed that had more to do with your answer than you becoming an ass."

Oh, dear. He was in trouble. Better try honesty. "You're probably right. I guess I just figured that you were done with me, after I said "no". And so I felt like I needed to be tougher with you to keep me from feeling how angry you were or how dismissed I was." He eyed her hopefully, needing her to understand because he'd just maxed out on his ability to discuss emotional matters. "I see the idea backfired on me, because you weren't done with me at all." 

"Oh, I was done."

He raised on eyebrow. 

"Don't flatter yourself, Grissom. I wasn't pining for you or anything. I wasn't wallowing in the rejection. I'd felt enough of all that BEFORE that night."

"So then, what..."

"Grissom," she explained patiently, as though speaking to a child, "we've been friends for a long time. Sure, you're a big flirt-"

"I'M a flirt?!" 

"-and sure we had fun with all that," she continued without missing a beat. "But I think we can both agree that at the core of it all, we just liked having each other around. We understood each other."

She looked at him, as though for permission to keep going. He nodded. "But then things got a little weird between us; I think you got scared off by your overly-friendly feelings and reverted to ass-mode, but who knows." She couldn't hide her grin, which was good, because it made her words much easier for him to swallow. "And then _boom_, a delivery man with a plant arrives at my door."

"It was a nice plant."

"Yes, it was. But if you want the truth..."

He thought about that for a moment, not sure if he was ready for it. "Okay..."

"I had to laugh a little about it. I mean, it was very sweet, and the sentiment behind it was one of the main reasons I decided to stay. But I couldn't help thinking how funny it was that you seemed to be under the impression that the whole situation was all about you." She met his eyes. "Is this too much honesty for one day, or do you want me to continue?"

He was sure that his eyes must have betrayed his wariness, but he swallowed and nodded as bravely as he could.

"Grissom," she took his hand and held fast to it, "I came to Vegas because you asked me to. I even stayed because you wanted me here. But it wasn't because I was head-over-heels. That was never the reason."

"Are you saying you were never interested?"

"Of course not! Don't be ridiculous! But more than wanting to jump you-" 

He coughed.

"-I just liked having you around. I mean, you took me pretty far from home and my friends. I came to a place where people were hostile toward me for awhile. You were all I had. And even though I've made other friends in Vegas, especially here at work, you were still... well, not my best friend, but you were... Grissom. In fact, I think that sometimes all of the other stuff was just an excuse for us to spend more time together. You know?"

Grissom was looking at her smaller hand curled around his. "Is this your way of saying "let's just be friends"?"

A pause. "Maybe." She ducked her head to try to meet his eye. "How would you feel about that?"

He released her hand and turned to face forward, laying his head against the back of the couch, slouching a bit. He was suddenly feeling very tired.

"No, you don't, Grissom," she demanded. "No shutting down on me. You wanted to talk, so let's talk."

He rolled his head toward her and looked her straight in the eye. "I just want you in my life."

A simple statement, but the emotions behind it were so raw. She leaned forward and kissed him, however chastely, on the lips. "You've got me, either way."

He smiled, a real smile. "Then that's enough."

A knock on the door, and the moment was gone.

**END OF PART 10**


	12. Part 11: Where egos are soothed

**PART 11: WHERE EGOS ARE SOOTHED**

"Careful, he's cranky."

It was the "morning after", so to speak, and Sara felt compelled to see how Grissom was doing after all the truth she had fed to him. Based on Catherine's warning, he wasn't doing that well, so she thought she'd better knock.

"Unless you've got good news, go away." 

So that was the way it was going to be. She pushed the door open and went inside, closing it behind her. "Good morning to you too, sunshine."

"Not now, Sara."

She just grinned. "Sorry, Gil, but I've resolved not to take any more crap from you. So, who tied your panties in a knot?" 

Ouch. If looks could kill... "Who, me?" she asked feigning innocence. Apparently she'd gained the freedom of telling him the truth at his expense, and the huge weight that had lifted from her chest had settled firmly onto his. She knew a bruised ego when she saw one.

No answer. She decided to wait him out, walking around the room and tidying up.

"Would you kindly stop puttering and leave me alone to work?"

"No." 

She thought he was going to yell. She really did. But instead, he let out a frustrated sigh and practically threw his glasses down on the desk.

"You're impossible." 

"And you're cute when you're angry."

There it was, that flicker of resignation in his eyes. She had him. Now that she judged it safe to do so, she walked over and hopped up on his desk, sitting facing him.

He just shook his head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Eventually, if you're very lucky, anything you'd like," she teased. "For now, you're going to let me take you to breakfast."

"Is that so?" He raised a questioning eyebrow. "And what if I said "no"?"

"If you said "no", I would have to kill you." They had come so far already. "Are you about done?"

"It's nothing that can't wait." 

"Good. I'll meet you at Frank's in 10." And she breezed out of his office, congratulating herself for a job well done.

By the time she got to the restaurant, though, her nerves had gotten the better of her. She withstood the impulse to stand and pace while she waited.

Then he arrived. He was still a little cranky, and that made him easier for her to deal with. They ordered, and then they talked.

"You're still angry with me, huh?"

"I'm not angry with you, Sara," he said with a sigh. "You just... You just took me down a few notches last night, that's all. Once it sunk in..."

"You got cranky," she finished for him, reaching across the table and put her hand on his arm. "I didn't mean to hurt your pride, Griss. That was just a whole lot of stuff I'd been working up the courage to say. Even I didn't think it would all come out at once. I guess I didn't handle it very well."

He covered her hand with one of his own. "No, it was very appropriate, very... Sara. I wouldn't have expected it any other way." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly. "But next time, I'd appreciate the truth in slightly smaller doses, if you wouldn't mind." 

"I'll do what I can," she said solemnly, removing her hand from under his to hold it up in a Girl Scout's pledge. Then she smiled, and his crankiness seemed to leave him.

So they ate, and talked about safe subjects, and realized that they could spend time together like normal people and it could be okay. And then they got in their cars and drove away.

**END OF PART 11**


	13. Part 12: Where territories are expanded

**PART 12: WHERE TERRITORIES ARE EXPANDED**

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. Uh, Grissom. Did I wake you?" He sincerely hoped not; that was the last thing he needed.

"Nope, just got out of the shower. What's up?"

Grissom was gazing out the window in his townhouse, talking to her on a cordless. "Nothing much. Just wondering if you'd like some company before work."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Pizza, soda, movies." He was at his fish tank now, checking the filter, dropping in a few flakes of food.

"Sounds great!"

"Okay, I'll pick everything up and be over in an hour or so."

Grissom hung up the phone and sighed, relieved. That hadn't been so hard after all.

He was early, and she was barefoot. The fact that her toe nails were painted pink was somewhat of an epiphany for him. 

She thanked him for his efforts and led him inside, then detoured to the kitchen to grab plates and napkins. "What movies did you pick?" she called.

He was putting the DVDs in the player. "Well, I brought 'Clue', which is of course a classic. Have you seen it?"

"Once, in college. From what I remember it's quite funny." She joined him on the couch, opening up the pizza box. "Vegetarian. Thank you for remembering." She rewarded him with a pat on the leg.

"Oh, trust me, I won't make THAT mistake again." He grabbed a slice and slid it onto his plate. "I also brought a chick flick. 'Never Been Kissed'."

Sara had just taken a sip of the soda he'd brought, and nearly choked on it. "You rented "Never Been Kissed"?" She was laughing at him. "How on earth did you arrive at that choice?"

"I asked one of the girls working there. She informed me that it was a classic in its own right, and that I couldn't go wrong with Drew Barrymore." The pizza was good, even without meat. He kicked off his shoes and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

"Grissom, do you even know who Drew Barrymore is?"

"Of course," he answered dryly. "She's the girl from 'E.T.'."

Another near-choking miss. "You are SO OLD."

He loved hearing her laugh, even at his expense. "Shut up and watch the movie."

And they did. They made short work of the food, and watched in silence from opposite ends of the couch. When it was over, he helped her bring everything into the kitchen.

"So, what did you think?" she asked him, putting their plates in the dishwasher.

"Well..." He wasn't sure how honest he should be. "It was... okay. Kind of troubling."

"In what way?" She reached into a drawer and pulled out a pack of gum, taking a piece and then tossing the pack to him. "Veggie breath," she explained.

"He was her _teacher_. That's kind of... dirty, don't you think?" He followed her back to the living room and back to the couch, careful to sit closer to her this time.

"But she wasn't _really_ a student," Sara protested.

"Yes, but he _thought_ that she was. I mean, you'd think she would feel like he was lacking integrity, at the very least."

"Well, you're my supervisor. There's rules against this, too."

"Yes, but you're not under age, and I know you're not. Besides, we're not doing anything," he couldn't help adding.

"Not _yet_," she clarified with a grin.

This was fun. "Excuse me? You're awfully suggestive for a woman who only a week ago told me that she just wanted to be friends."

She slapped at his arm. "Gil Grissom, I said no such thing! Those were your words!"

"Oh, no. Don't try to pin this on me. I distinctly recall you saying..."

Suddenly, she was very close to him. _Very_ close. "What did I say?"

He could feel her breath on his face, and smell the mint from her gum. He sensed that she was only playing with him, but that didn't keep him from feeling a little light-headed. "I... I've forgotten."

She didn't move. "Wow, Grissom. "E.T.", memory loss... Maybe I should put you into a home."

Why, that little... He grabbed the throw pillow by his hand and whacked her on the side of the head. She laughed gaily and hit him back, and then safely retreated to her side of the couch.

He was chuckling as he tossed her the remote and she brought "Clue" onto the screen. "You're a wicked woman, Sara Sidle."

"You love it," she shot back.

Yes. Yes, he did.

**END OF PART 12**


	14. Part 13: Where truths are told

**PART 13: WHERE TRUTHS ARE TOLD**

Sara was scanning the dictionary for unconventional "R" words. She was hoping to land the triple word score by playing off the "R" in "larynx".

"Got one: 'Ramism: the doctrines of Ramus based on opposition to Aristotelianism and advocacy of a new logic blended with rhetoric.' Double letter score, triple word score, and the lead."

They were playing "ultimate" Scrabble, a brainchild of Grissom's that involved using one board but the letters from two games, and having twice as many pieces in play at once. It also required that all words be over five letters long.

Turn about being fair play, Sara had invited herself over to Grissom's place, and they were sitting on the floor in his living room. They'd been at this for over an hour, both tired, but neither wanting to be the first to back down.

Grissom was the first to break. "My brain needs a breather." He stood, stretching, and then headed toward the kitchen. "Can I get you something more to drink?"

"Just some water would be great." Truthfully, she wanted a beer, and knew he had some. But he hadn't offered and she was afraid to ask. There were still some conversations that needed to be had between them, but not just yet.

Her knees cracked as she pulled herself up onto the couch, looking around once again. She'd only been at his place a handful of times, mostly because of work. In fact, the only time the visit had been social was when she had first arrived in town and he had made her dinner. That seemed like forever ago.

He returned and she took the beverage from him, hearing the ice clinking. "Well, professor, I'd say we've done good work here today."

"I concur," he answered dryly. "But you know, I'm letting you win."

She smiled, taking a few sips of her water before putting the glass on the table in front of them. "I know." 

He joined her on the couch, and just looked at her, obviously thinking. She was fairly used to his "staring" by now, but it was still a bit disconcerting to be under that kind of scrutiny. "Griss?"

His eyes focused, and his expression turned apologetic. "Sorry, Sar. Didn't mean to zone on you like that." 

"It's okay. Where were you just then?" 

"Hmmm... Not a happy place."

Concerned, she inched closer to him, taking his hand. "Hey, what's up?" 

"I've just been thinking a lot recently."

She waited for more. "Well, thinking is good. Anything specific?"

"Yes." 

A pause. "Okay, Gil, I'm going to need a bit more than that."

And then he hugged her. He dropped her hand and put his arm around her, pulling her into his side, her head tucked under his chin. "Shut up, Sara. I'm still thinking."

Suddenly she had a whole lot to say, but she did as instructed. She could feel his heart beating beneath her ear, and it was nice.

Nice, but strange. Sara wasn't sure how to respond, where to put her hands. So she just hugged herself and waited, knowing instinctively that there was nothing romantic about this, nothing threatening, and able to relax and enjoy the moment.

It was a long moment. 

"Maybe we _should_ just be friends."

She guessed that meant he was done thinking. "What makes you say that?" she asked evenly, sitting up to look at him. He surprised her by nuzzling her nose ever so briefly with his before pulling back.

"Because we seem to be good at this."

Sara was more than a little confused. "Yes, we're very good at this."

"But not so good at...that."

"Speak for yourself!" she said lightly.

His serious tone didn't change. "I am." It would only take a few inches of forward movement to kiss her, but that seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind. 

Sara brought a hand up to his face, soothing. "You're scared."

"Yes."

"Me, too." 

He captured her hand and brought it to his lips, lightly brushing them across her knuckles. Then his expression flickered. "Scrabble might help."

"You might be right," she agreed somberly. "We should play. Finish the game. See how things go."

They smiled.

That was the only decision they made that night.

**END OF PART 13**


	15. Part 14: Where decisions are made

**PART 14: WHERE DECISIONS ARE MADE**

Cold feet seemed to be more contagious than the flu, because it was certainly catching.

Grissom awoke with a start when something jabbed him in the leg. He should have known that the "something" would be a "someone". "Sara? How did you get in here?"

She was sitting cross legged on his bed. It was 11:30 in the morning. "I used the key." 

His eyes narrowed. "I've never given you a key...have I?"

She shook her head, looking distinctly sheepish. "I got the spare set you keep in your desk."

"Didn't I lock my office?"

"Catherine let me in." 

"That's two counts of breaking and entering in one day, Miss Sidle." His eyes were smiling.

"I happen to know that you sleep like the dead, so I thought I'd better be prepared."

"You obviously have something important you want to say." When she remained quiet, he reached out to touch her arm. "Sara? You can just say it."

"I think you may have been right. About just being friends." 

Grissom was surprised at just how _not_ worried he felt. He knew they'd have to hash this out eventually, and had already prepared himself, or so he thought. He put his hands behind his head in a relaxed pose. "Really. May I ask how you arrived at this decision?"

His tone and posture seemed to put her at ease, at least relative to how wound up she'd been thus far that morning. "Well, there were several factors. Would you like me to just list them?"

"That should suffice." 

"First of all, we work together. Statistically workplace romances are doomed to fail."

"And 92.7 percent of statistics are made up on the spot," he quipped. But he had to admit that he'd thought about that too, their working together. And not just about the statistics, but about the politics.

"Secondly, even if we DID beat the odds, it's already been a little difficult to separate work and... us."

"Probably because work _is_ us."

"Sure." There was much more that could have been said on that whole issue, but she chose to move on. "Thirdly, there's the age difference."

"I was wondering if you'd get around to that. Good to know it's in the top three."

"You know it doesn't bother me, but from when we've talked around it, I've felt like the idea of people thinking it's...weird...makes you uncomfortable."

He had actually always thought about it in terms of children. The idea of him being in his 70's when his kid graduated high school was daunting. It occurred to him that he didn't even know if she wanted to have kids. It also occurred to him that he was really jumping the gun.

"Okay. Is that all?"

"Nope, there's more. You want me to keep going?"

"Maybe just the highlights. I think I'm getting a migraine." A dull ache really was beginning to declare itself behind his eyes. A stress headache, no doubt; he wasn't feeling so relaxed anymore. 

"Then I'll skip to the bottom line." Sara placed a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth through the blankets. Contact helped. "I really like what we have going right now. And you were right when you said that we suck at relationships. Odds are, we'll blow this."

"I don't recall using the word 'suck'."

"I was paraphrasing." She looked at him, gnawing nervously on her lower lip. "So? What do you think?"

Grissom sat up, leaning against the headboard. "Odds are that we'll regret it if we don't at least try." 

"Odds are that we'll regret trying."

"Odds are that all attempts to de-sexualize this friendship will lead to either self-destruction or incredible boredom."

A small smile broke through. "Good point." Then she sighed. "It seems like we're not any closer to a decision."

Grissom was staring again, deep in thought. Then suddenly, he grinned, as much as Grissom ever grinned. "Hey, Sara, does this mean that I've managed to make it up to you?"

"What?" 

"You know. I was trying to make it up to you. Have I succeeded?"

She thought for a moment. "Yeah, I guess you have." This time when she smiled, it was full and bright. "Maybe there's hope for us yet."

He motioned with his head for her to come closer, and she did, sitting beside him as he put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. "You know we're making this much harder than it needs to be."

She leaned her head against his. "That surprises you?"

"Not a bit." He turned thoughtful again. "So is...this..." he indicated how they were sitting, "Is this friendship-appropriate?"

He could hear the humour in her voice. "I imagine so." And the game began. "Will I still be able to invade your office whenever I want?"

"It's not invasion if you're invited. And you are." He turned his head and touched his lips to her forehead. "What about that?"

"Hmmm. I think that'll be okay."

Neither of them turned away; this game could only be leading in one direction. It was Grissom who finally closed the distance between them, tentatively. The kiss was tender, slow, non-invasive. There were no earthquakes, no alarms, and no jolts of electricity, but it was perfect.

"And that?" he asked her when the moment was over. "Does that fall within the boundaries of friendship?"

She touched his lips with hers again, briefly. "I'm not certain about that. We'll have to experiment and see."

They looked at each other for a long moment, smiling almost shyly at one another and then looking away, not knowing what to do next. Sara actually found herself blushing.

"Okay, then, I guess it's settled," she said as she climbed over him and off the bed. Standing, she held out her hand to him. "Friends?" 

He chuckled as he shook it. "Friends," he agreed. "Now go home and get some sleep. I'll see you tonight at work." He watched as she slipped back into her shoes and, smiling, headed toward the door. 

"And Sara?"

"Yeah, Griss?" 

"Remind me to get you a key of your own."

**END OF PART 14**


	16. Part 15: Where questions are asked

**PART 15: WHERE QUESTIONS ARE ASKED**

"Hey, Grissom?" Catherine stepped into his office and looked around. The light was on, but the occupant was definitely not Grissom.

Sara was on the "thinking couch", earphones plugged into her laptop. The computer nearly wound up on the floor when the unexpected hand landed on her shoulder to get her attention. She turned off her music. "Sorry, Catherine. Something you need?"

Things were not good between them, and hadn't been for a long time, not since the day Grissom had covered for her when by rights he should have fired her. There was less outright bickering now, for certain, but Sara had never offered an apology, and it seemed that Catherine had never really forgiven her behaviour. Neither had Catherine attempted to make any restitution for the way she'd been acting as a result.

They'd settled upon a truce of sorts. They could work together if need be, and no one would know a grudge was being held. And some days, they could even make each other laugh.

More lately. It was really hard for Sara to stay annoyed with anyone now, for obvious reasons. But she'd never been good at biting the bullet.

"I was just looking for Grissom." Catherine's tone bordered on accusing. "Does he know you're in here?"

"Not exactly." That was true. She had an open invitation, but she hadn't seen him all night. "I don't know where he is. I thought he was with you."

"Well, obviously he's not." Catherine pulled out her cell phone and tapped the third number on her speed- dial, nodding in Sara's direction before leaving the room. "Hey, Griss, it's Cath. Where are you?"

She waited for him in the Sheriff's outer office. Only a few minutes passed before he joined her. "Sorry about that. Meeting ran long."

"No problem," she told him. "Ready to go?" They'd been called to a new crime scene that had appeared to be related to the one they'd been working the night before.

"I just need to grab my jacket from my office." He rested a cool hand on her back and steered her toward the elevator.

"I was just in your office," she told him, deceptively nonchalant. "Sara was there, working." 

"Oh." They entered the elevator and he punched the button for the first floor. "Do you want to meet me in the parking lot? Brass is no doubt wondering where we are."

His non-reaction only piqued her curiosity more. "Grissom, why was Sara in your office?"

"Didn't you say she was working?"

"Well, yes." There was no way he was as clueless as he was letting on. "Doesn't it bother you that she's invading your space like that?"

"No." He blinked. "Does it bother you?"

They reached the ground floor, and greeted the lab assistant who was waiting to get in. "I take it you've settled your differences."

"In a manner of speaking."

"What's that supposed to mean?" So much for meeting him in the parking lot. She wasn't about to let this slide.

"You're being nosey," he told her rather sharply.

"You're being evasive," she shot back.

"Okay." He stopped short and faced her. "What is it exactly that you want to know?"

"I just want to know what's going on with you two. One day you can't get far enough away from each other, the next she's making herself at home in your office."

He shook his head. "That's a considerable over-simplification."

"Then enlighten me."

He pondered his options for a moment. "Well, not that it's particularly your business, but yes, Sara and I have reconciled." He was riled up enough from his meeting with the Sheriff that he didn't even consider stopping there. "And since I know this is what you're fishing for, I suppose it doesn't hurt to tell you that she and I briefly considered pursuing...a relationship...but decided against it. We're just friends, so you will kindly leave it alone." He tilted his head questioningly. "Feeling sufficiently enlightened?"

He could tell by her expression that he'd given her quite a bit _more_ than she'd been fishing for. "Catherine, close your mouth. We can talk about it on the way. You grab the kits and the keys and I'll be right there." And he left her standing, speechless, in the hallway.

This time the hand on Sara's shoulder didn't startle her. She recognized the touch. "Hey, Griss," she greeted him, pulling off her earphones. "Catherine find you?" 

"Yes, she certainly did." He smiled wanly. "She seemed quite interested in the fact that you were looking so cozy in my office."

"Oh, really," she said knowingly. "And what did you tell her?"

He grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on. "I told her that we were just friends." And with a smirk and a wave, he was gone.

Sara chuckled and returned to her work. So they _had_ made the right decision, after all.

**END OF PART 15**


	17. Part 16: Where lines are blurred

**PART 16: WHERE LINES ARE BLURRED**

"Grissom? Sophia said you wanted to see me." 

It'd been a few days since Sara and Grissom had enjoyed any significant time together. In fact, they'd barely had a chance to speak at all since the decision had been made.

"Hey, Sara. Come in and close the door, would you?" Grissom was behind his desk, gravely considering what laid there before him. "I'm in the middle of an ethical dilemma."

"Regarding evidence?"

"Regarding work schedules."

"I see." She settled into the chair opposite him, trying to match his intensity by crossing her arms on the desk and leaning forward. "What can I do to help?"

"You can confirm that there's nothing unethical about me reworking this month's schedule so we can have some time off together."

"My, that is a dilemma," Sara said, frowning as seriously as she could muster considering just how funny the whole situation was. "With all due respect, _sir_, I think any opinion I might share could potentially be biased." 

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards. "I won't tell if you won't."

"Truthfully, though, while I don't know how unethical the idea is, I think it might seem a little suspicious, don't you?" By his expression, she knew he agreed, but wasn't happy about it. "How about this: you keep the schedule the way it is, then we can just switch with people on our own. Call in some favours, if necessary."

"I miss you, Sara."

His unexpected sentiment nearly brought tears to her eyes, a reaction that was equally unexpected. "I know. I miss you too."

They reached for each other, hands joining briefly in the middle of the desk. "Why don't you come over tonight before work?" he asked her. "We can just... I don't know. It doesn't matter. Just come over."

"I suppose that could be arranged." She withdrew her hands. "Hey, don't I remember hearing something about getting my own key?" She looked at him matter-of-factly. "Because that would definitely increase your chances of being blessed with my company." 

"Sara..."

She held out her hand, palm up. "You told me to remind you, Grissom."

Narrowing his eyes, he asked, "Do you promise me that it will not be used against me in any way?"

She batted her eyes and smiled deliberately sweetly. "I promise."

He reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out his spare set of keys, removing one and placing it in her hand, but not letting go. "PROMISE, Sara."

"Hey, I promised already!" She snatched it away from him and got up from her chair. "Guess I'd better get back to work."

"Wouldn't want to get caught slacking."

"Yeah, my boss is a real hard-ass about that kind of thing." Throwing a grin over her shoulder, she was about to leave his office when she stopped and turned to face him. "I really can't use it against you in ANY way?"

He glared at her, though obviously teasing.

"What would you do if I did?"

"I would probably fire you," he deadpanned.

"Is that all? That's not so bad." She winked. "Catch you around."

"Sara!" he called after her. "Are we on for tonight?"

"I wouldn't miss it. I'll be over after dinner." Then she added, "Oh, and don't bother leaving the door unlocked."

As he watched her leave, Grissom couldn't help wondering what he was getting himself into. Whatever it was, it seemed to be getting better all the time.

_**Later**_

Grissom was tired. He'd worked a lot of overtime lately, and though he'd slept well that day, he just couldn't muster up any energy. The miniatures consumed him more than he wished they would. There was just something about that case that sapped his energy.

But Sara was coming over. He wasn't about to sleep through that.

He ate dinner, washed dishes, and then laid down on his couch with a science journal. His eyes were heavy, but he willed himself to stay awake.

So much for being strong-willed. He was asleep within minutes, and didn't hear Sara use her newly acquired key to let herself in.

A jab in the leg, and he was awake. "Can't you find a more..._friendly _way to wake me up?" he asked her before he'd even opened his eyes. 

"The _prince_ is supposed to kiss the sleeping _princess_, dummy."

"I was actually thinking more along the lines of a simple pat on the arm," he informed her as he struggled to sit up.

"I like my idea better."

Had the temperature in the room just risen? "You're not sleeping," he reminded her.

"And you're not going to let that stop you." She sat down beside Grissom, turning sideways to face him. "Are you?"

Suddenly, Grissom wasn't tired anymore.

Their second real kiss lasted much longer than their first, and while there was nothing really heavy about it, it did propel Sara to end up half on top of him as he leaned back against the arm of the couch to gain leverage. Hands were tender, but not exploring. There was a safety---almost a purity---to this that kept them both at ease where nervousness might once have taken over. 

Then Sara abruptly pulled away. "Grissom, no." The flash of panic in his eyes made her feel bad immediately. "No tongue, Griss," she explained, hand caressing the back of his neck to sooth him. "Friends don't kiss with tongues." 

"Why, you little..." He lunged forward and threw them both off balance. They landed unceremoniously, but not painfully, on the floor.

Well, Sara did. Grissom landed on top of her. Their laughter ceased all at once, and their eyes locked.

After a moment had passed, Grissom spoke. "Friends definitely don't do _this_." He kissed her lips, her neck, and then he rolled off of her and stood, holding out a hand to her and pulling her up.

She rewarded him for his gentlemanly behaviour with a firm hug. "Perhaps we'd better think about something a little more friend-worthy to occupy our time before we get ourselves in trouble."

"I know a place that serves good desserts," Grissom suggested. She agreed.

And to think, he'd been afraid they'd find nothing fun to do that night.

**END OF PART 16**


	18. Part 17: Where covers are blown

**PART 17: WHERE COVERS ARE BLOWN**

The date night they'd worked so hard to arrange turned out to be a wash. Grissom had been on his way to pick her up when the call had come in from the Sheriff about the murder of a state senator within city limits. The whole team had been pulled onto the case. 

It was now Saturday morning, almost Saturday afternoon, and they were gathered in the break room. The case had broken a few hours before, and everyone had brought the evidence that Grissom would present to the D.A. and the Sheriff.

"Great job again, everyone," Grissom told them at the close of the meeting. "Now go home and get some sleep. You've certainly earned it."

Sara was sitting on the counter, and remained there as the others departed. When the coast was clear, he approached, leaning against the table and facing her.

"Well, my dear?"

"Griss, for as much as I was looking forward to spending last night with you, I've got to say, we have a great team. And I know death shouldn't be fun, but this was."

They shared a smile. Life was good. 

"I really am sorry that we missed our night off, though." Glancing around quickly to make sure they weren't in danger of being observed, Grissom took a few steps closer and placed his hands on either side of her on the counter. "I guess I'll have to try to make it up to you."

"And you're good at that," she observed with a grin, leaning forward to nuzzle his cheek with her nose. "You can start by losing the facial hair. I like the way it looks, but it's too scratchy."

"I'll consider it," he promised, kissing her chastely on the lips. "But right now I have to go take my place in the Sheriff's dog and pony show. The media's going to be all over this." He gathered up the evidence the team had brought in, and called a goodbye as he left the room.

And ran into Brass. "Grissom," he greeted as he passed, entering the room where Sara was gathering up her things.

One look at her and Sara knew he had seen everything. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks.

"So I heard a funny story from Catherine awhile ago," Brass began. "One she heard from Grissom. More of a joke, I guess, really. Maybe you've heard the punch line? Something about "we're just friends"?"

As subtle as a brick, just like always. "I prefer to think of it as "friends-with-benefits"," Sara explained sheepishly. "But it's not what you think. I promise you that."

"I really doubt you know what I'm thinking," Brass told her with a wry smile. "Because what I'm thinking is "good for you". Not to mention "it's about time"." He poured himself a cup of coffee. "Though probably not everyone will be as happy about it as I am. You might want to consider being a little more discreet."

Sara blushed again. What was wrong with her? "Yeah, I guess you're right." Now what? Sara knew that neither of them were ready to go public with this. Hell, they were still trying to figure out what "this" was.

Jim was headed out of the room. "Don't worry, kid. I can see you're worrying. Your secret's safe with me."

Sara smiled, relieved. "Thanks, Jim. I owe you."

"Nah," he replied. "For you, consider it a freebie. But you can tell GRISSOM he owes me." And then he was gone.

_**Later  
**_  
Sara had stopped in at Grissom's on her way to work. She'd knocked, but there had been no answer. She found him in bed, sound asleep. Resisting the urge to poke him, she instead said his name quietly, laying a hand on his chest.

Grissom stirred. "You're getting better with your wake-up calls," he mumbled, opening his eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time to go. Aren't you coming?"

"The P.R. parade lasted forever, and then Ecklie started drilling me about the miniatures. I didn't get home until 4:30. At least he told me to the night off, and I thought it sounded like good advice."

"Oops," she said, genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry I woke you."

"I'm not." He smiled up at her, then glanced at his clock. "You still have a little while; why don't you stick around for a bit?" He took her hand."Grissom, it would be cruel of me to pull you out of bed just to hang out."

"Who said anything about getting out of bed?"

Sara's mouth opened, then closed again.

Grissom chuckled at his own inadvertent innuendo. "That was meant to be an invitation, not a proposition," he clarified. "You haven't slept much lately; I thought you might be up for a nap."

"I'm not sure whether to be relieved or disappointed," Sara joked half-heartedly. "But I definitely need to get going." Instead of leaving, though, she laid down beside him on top of the covers. Both of them stared at the ceiling, not touching one another.

"You're not leaving," he observed.

"Yes, I am," she told him dryly. "I'm just moving very slowly."

"Something on your mind?" He wished she would stay. He wished she'd move closer. He wished -

"Brass."

He wished she'd had anything else to say but that. "Damn. I thought maybe, but I was hoping I was wrong." Grissom closed his eyes for a moment, thinking. "What did he say?"

"He said that you owe him, and that he's going to keep it to himself. But he also said we need to be more discreet."

"Good. That's good, I guess." 

"And he said he thinks this is a good thing, you and me together." She turned on her side, and looked at him carefully. "It was nice, the way he said it."

"Jim's a nice guy. He likes you a lot, you know." He reached up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear. He was so glad she was there. But he was also so very tired.

She put a hand on his chest. "What can I say? I'm a likable gal. I mean, YOU like me."

"I'd like you more if you moved a little closer." He tugged at her hand. "Just for a minute."

"Okay, but just for a minute." She inched a little closer, and he did the same until she was flush against his side, his arm around her. "Remember, I'm very slowly on my way to work." 

Sara may have said something else, but he couldn't be sure. Her contented sigh as her arm tightened across his chest was not lost on him, however, and he smiled in his sleep. He didn't awaken when she untangled herself to leave for work a half hour later.

He was dreaming of the future, and of her.

**END OF PART 17**


	19. Part 18: Where attentions are demanded

**PART 18: WHERE ATTENTIONS ARE DEMANDED**

Things had been crazy at work. Absolutely crazy. Things were always crazy, but this was getting ridiculous.

At least, that's what Sara was thinking as she read the note that Grissom had taped to her locker: _"Sara --- Called back out. Maybe tomorrow?"_

It had been six days since the senator murder case, and they hadn't seen each other for more than 10 minutes at a time since. Rarely was that alone. He'd been hesitant to put them on cases together, and when she'd pulled him aside and questioned him about it, he'd made some flirty comment about the likelihood of impropriety. She assumed that was his way of saying he would have a hard time keeping his hands off of her.

You wouldn't know it from the past six days. They hadn't touched each other at all. 

She'd reached for her cell phone and dialed the number before it had even registered what she was doing.

"Grissom." 

"Hey, it's me," she said warmly.

"Hey, you. Did you get my note?"

"Yeah, I did. And frankly I'm kind of pissed off about it."

"I'm not exactly throwing a party about it either. Sorry I had to miss breakfast."

She sighed. "I know it's not your fault. And I've had to cancel a few times this week myself. I just..."

"I know, Sara. We'll find time." 

"Really? Because I'm starting to have doubts." She paused. "How long do you think you'll be?"

"Probably two hours in the field. I'm going to process the scene and then hand it off to day shift. I'm dead on my feet."

"Then why don't you go home when you're done, grab a toothbrush and a change of clothes, and come over to my place? Then when we wake up we'll at least have an hour or two."

There was silence at the other end of the line. "Grissom?"

"That's the best idea I've heard in a long time," came the response. 

Sara grinned. "I'll leave a key on your desk. See you later!"

She went home and changed into her favourite pajamas, a well-worn Harvard t-shirt offset by white cotton pants printed with pink bears. She ate cereal and bananas over the morning paper, and started the crossword but found herself too tired and preoccupied to focus. After writing Grissom a note and preparing for his arrival, she climbed into bed and quickly fell asleep.

_**Later  
**_  
"Griss -- I'm sleeping. If you're hungry, feel free to snoop; you're welcome to anything you find. There's towels out for you in the bathroom. Wake me up when you come to bed. --- Sara"

Grissom smiled and placed the note back on the table where he'd found it. He'd picked up breakfast on the way home, but he definitely needed to shower before he slept. He took his overnight bag and headed for the bathroom, humming softly to himself.

He emerged 20 minutes later in a t-shirt and green pajama pants. He was dragging, more exhausted than he'd been in a long time. And yet elated. She hadn't yet let him put his tongue in her mouth, but she was letting him sleep over. A significant milestone indeed, if not a little out of order.

Sara woke up on her own when he climbed into bed, but not fully. "Hmmm... What time is it?"

"Early," he assured her, stretching out on his side behind her and pulling her flush against him. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she mumbled agreeably, lifting her head slightly so he could slip his arm underneath. "Mmm, you smell good."

"I borrowed your shampoo." With his free hand he brushed her hair away from her neck so he could place his lips there. "Thanks for inviting me over."

"No problem." She yawned widely. "'Night."

"'Night, Sar." 

They slept.

He was awakened by the sound of her hair drier, and when he checked his watch he saw that it was nearly 6 o'clock. He was still tired, but the fact that he had slept so solidly for so long was something of a victory for him. Rolling onto his stomach, he closed his eyes, feigning sleep, and waited for her to return.

But she didn't. He heard her exit the bathroom and head toward the kitchen instead. He considered waiting for her to come wake him, but he didn't want to waste any of their time together.

He climbed out of bed and went to the bathroom to relieve himself and to brush the taste of sleep from his mouth, but he didn't bother to get dressed; the idea of walking around her apartment in his pajamas had a kind of domestic feel that he rather enjoyed. Besides, she would no doubt think him endearing with his PJs and his mussed hair, and that could only play to his advantage. 

Still barefoot, he arrived in the kitchen to find that he wasn't the only one trying to gain an advantage. She too was in her pajamas, and her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail. She was adorable, and there was no doubt in his mind that she knew that she was.

Sara was peeling an orange and monitoring the grilled cheese sandwiches cooking in the frying pan. She turned when she heard him approach. "You're up," she said unnecessarily. 

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, taking the orange from her hands and finishing the job.

"Like a log." 

"Me, too." He handed it back to her, then turned to pour himself a cup of coffee.

Suddenly, he felt her arms slip around his waist. "Yes?" he inquired, not wavering from his task.

"Didn't your mom ever teach you how to say a proper good morning?"

He didn't give in. "Funny, I was wondering the same thing about you when I woke up...alone... in your bed."

She stretched up to kiss him just behind his right ear. "Oh, so this is punishment. I see how it's going to be. Well, fine then. We can always try to go another six days before we-"

He surprised her by turning in her grasp and shutting her up. He could feel her grinning against his mouth. 

Then just as suddenly as the act had begun, he pulled away. "Your sandwiches are going to burn." And he picked up his coffee and headed for the living room.

"Bastard," he heard her mutter as he settled onto the couch and turned on the TV, choosing a local news station.

She followed him in a few minutes later with the sandwiches, two for each of them, and handed him a plate and a napkin. Then she sat down beside him, very close. 

"Thanks," he said, giving her a quick kiss.

They ate silently, watching the news. Sara finished first and set her plate on the coffee table, then tucked her legs underneath her and leaned into his side, placing a hand unobtrusively on his thigh. When Grissom finished, he put his plate beside him on the end table and just continued to watch, smiling internally and wondering how long she'd let him get away with pretending to ignore her.

Not long. That unobtrusive hand on his leg started to get a little obtrusive. Still ignored, she finally resorted to pinching him. 

Biting back a yelp of surprise, he addressed her as calmly as he could, continuing to look straight ahead. "Are you trying to get my attention?"

"Are you trying to make me crazy?"

He turned his head with a smirk. "Trying? I think I'm succeeding."

She was much stronger than he'd given her credit for, or so he mused as he found himself on his back. Laughing with her, he brought his legs up onto the couch and stretched out as she settled herself on top of him. But before she could do what she'd meant to, he stopped her by saying, "There's something I need to tell you."

He was glad when her look was curious, but there was no fear in her eyes. More progress. "Can't it wait?"

"Yes, but it probably shouldn't. Sara, I'm taking a sabbatical."

She visibly deflated. "Why? Where? For how long?"

"Four weeks, out east, to teach. But mostly because I need to get away. Clear my head. These miniatures…"

Sara was sympathetic. She knew how much this case was getting to him. "I understand. I do. But…"

"How much vacation time do you have?" He looked up at her hopefully. He already knew the answer; he was her boss, after all.

It took her a moment to process what he was saying. "Oh, Griss. We can't." She rolled off of him unceremoniously, and lowered herself into the easy chair, sighing. "There's just no way."

Grissom was confused, and frankly a little terrified, by her reaction. He sat up quickly. "I'm sorry, Sara, but I'm not sure what the problem is."

Sara didn't know how to explain to him why this seemed like the worst idea ever. Didn't know how, and didn't want to explain, for fear that he would talk her out of her thinking. But the reality was that she knew if they were going to make a go of this, it needed to happen in "real life"; taking a month together to go off and play house would probably be the most fun she'd ever had. But she was clinging to her objectivity, desperately, and keeping a firm hold on her heart until she knew that she knew that she KNEW they were going to last.

"I'm not ready," was all she could think of to say.

Grissom was disappointed, and couldn't hide it. He went to kneel in front of her chair. "Sara, we can do this however you'd like. We don't need to share a bed, or even a room. If you're not ready…"

"I'm NOT ready," she repeated, taking his face into her hands. "And it's not what you think." She sighed. "I'm so sorry, Grissom. I WANT to, I promise you. I just need to…"

"You need to protect your heart."

She smiled slightly. He DID understand. "Do you have to go?"

"I've already committed to going. I actually committed a long time ago; it just turned out to be a very timely thing in some respects." He took her hands off his face and held them, kissing them both. "And in other respects, it's the worst timing ever."

Sara pulled him up into the chair beside her; not a great fit, but she needed to think without him looking her in the eye, or she was going to give him. "Four weeks. That's not that long."

"No, it's not."

"And you'll call me. And we can email."

"Of course."

"And then you'll come back."

"And you'll be here."

Sara started to cry then, mentally berating herself the whole time. Grissom held her, feeling like a world class heel. Then, without significant discussion, they got ready for work and drove there in separate cars.

Grissom had gone right to the Sheriff's office. Sara had gone right to Grissom's office. When he finally entered she motioned for him to close the door behind him, and then he joined her on the couch.

"Hi."

"Hi."

Sara smiled. "I didn't invite you over to my place to fight and cry."

Grissom smiled back. "We didn't exactly fight."

"Yes, we did." And then she kissed him for a long moment. He tasted like grilled cheese. "Come over again in the morning, okay?"

"I'll be there."

**END OF PART 18**


	20. Part 19: Where things are started

**PART 19: WHERE THINGS ARE STARTED**

He wasn't there. Neither was she. Nor did they have much opportunity mourn that fact.

A recent windstorm had redistributed a lot of desert sand and unearthed a hand, discovered accidentally by two kids trying out their new bikes. Sara and Grissom were there to confirm that the hand was indeed attached to a body, but during the excavation more limbs and ended lives were discovered.

Adults, teens, little children. Dozens. Signs of what could be post-mortem bruising, but other than that no clue of what had happened. The wind had taken care of whatever evidence might have been left by the person or persons that had gotten them out here and covered them up. 

With no evidence to focus on, Sara found herself focusing on their faces, as one by one the bodies were carefully removed from their mass desert grave.

They looked peaceful, despite the lifelessness, the decay.

"Sara? There's nothing more we can do here. I asked Evans to get one of his guys to photograph each body before they transport, and I send Greg and Nick to start sifting." Grissom touched her arm. "I'll drive." 

When they got back to the lab, Grissom went down to the morgue to witness the chaos. Robbins had called in every M.E., trainee, and personal friend with clearance that he could get a hold of in order to handle the sheer number of bodies. The children were kept two or three to a table for space reasons, some adult bodies were laid bagged on the floor, waiting in the queue to be examined. 

Griss helped where he could, collecting and tagging personal effects, cataloging heights and weights, instructing a lab tech on what information to include in the database that was being created to keep all of this straight.

For the amount of people crammed into the room, it was eerily quiet. There was conversation, but it was hushed, perhaps out of respect for the sleeping.

Not that there was any question. None of these people would ever wake up again.

Sara was working on the pictures, along with several techs and other office staff conscripted for the task. Warrick had been pulled from his case to help out as well, leaving Catherine solo on an MVA.

It was Warrick who got the first hit out of a missing persons file. "Sara, you need to see this."

It was a child, reported missing by the father, with a note that the mother was the likely abductor. A little digging and it was confirmed --- the mother was also among the dead.

More hits from several people. Contact information for family members was collected, and people were assigned to make the initial phone calls, but it would have to wait. It was the middle of the night, after all.

So Sara started pouring over the files of the identified victims. Most of them seemed to have disappeared out of the blue, but in two files she found corresponding theories, and she decided it was worth telling Grissom.

He met her half way. "Poison, ingested," he told her immediately. "No sign of struggle." 

"And I've got two unrelated families suspecting cult involvement in the disappearances." She held up the reports for emphasis. "We've only identified nine so far. We'll have to wait and see what we get off the rest."

"But it's never cults," he said wryly.

She knew what he meant. They'd seen a few cases in the past where some strange things had been suspected, often by strange people, to be ritualistic or cult related, but it never panned out.

This case could be different. So many things were different lately.

"You about ready to take a break?"

Sara frowned at him. "Grissom... We're a little busy."

"It's policy to take breaks, Sara," he reminded her seriously. "We need to be alert, after all. Certainly it could compromise the case if we didn't take breaks. I really think-"

She silenced him by clamping a hand over his mouth briefly. "Okay, Gil, I get it. You've convinced me." And she smiled. "Where to, boss?" 

"My office. I picked up some sandwiches from the deli on my way in tonight. Hungry?"

"Very." She looped her arm through his and they walked together. They noted a few raised eyebrows as people passed by them, but they knew the action was innocuous enough to avoid serious questions.

So what if people talked a little, anyway? It made the whole charade all the more fun.

They ate. They talked. He rubbed her shoulders, and she promised that later she'd return the favour. If they ever got to go home. Finally, Sara checked her watch. "Well, boss, I'd say our break is just about over." They both stood and were disposing of their trash when Warrick barged in.

"Good, you're both here. Three more references to cult involvement, and one with a name for the ringleader. A "Brother Aaron". No other details, but I've got a research assistant doing some cross-checking through records for known religious organizations in the area." He looked at them curiously. "You guys on break?" 

"Yeah," Grissom admitted. "Just grabbing a bite to eat. We're done." He gestured toward the door. "Shall we?"

Warrick went first, but as Grissom went to follow, Sara hooked her index fingers into his back pockets, holding him back. Grissom reached out and closed the door, pausing and then locking it.

Sara chuckled. "Wow, Grissom. I'm not sure what you thought I had in mind, but..."

He turned and put his arms around her, drawing her close and resting his forehead on hers. "This is going to be a long shift. I need to get my fix."

This was probably the first intense moment they'd enjoyed. Something about their closeness, their mingled breath, the possessiveness of their hands, not to mention the fact that Warrick was libel to come knocking on the door any second; it all created the promise of something more. A need of something more.

"Do you really want to start something you can't finish?" she asked him, her breathing noticeably heavier than usual.

"Yes." 

And for a moment, she was afraid he was actually going to try. But instead he quickly dropped his head and blew a raspberry against her neck, causing them both to chuckle and the moment to be mercifully broken.

"You're such a tease, Gil Grissom," she accused him playfully as they left the office together.

"I don't tease," he assured her quietly as they rounded the corner. "Chalk it up to a momentary loss of restraint."

She smiled discreetly at him. "I look forward to longer moments." 

"As do I, my dear. As do I."

**END OF PART 19**


	21. Part 20: Where beliefs are considered

**PART 20: WHERE BELIEFS ARE CONSIDERED**

"Brother Aaron" was really Aaron Pruitt, a former grocery store manager who'd apparently received some heavenly revelation a few years back. Details on the organization he formed based on this revelation were sparse, but hokey.

Yet for some people it had been convincing. Apparently, convincing enough to die for.

Today it would be lunch instead of breakfast. Sara and Warrick occupied one side of the booth, and Grissom sat across from Sara.

Grissom nudged her shoe with one of his own while they were looking over the menus, and she responded in kind, settling her feet up against his. They exchanged a smile.

They spent their lunch talking about religion, and the things that people would allow themselves to believe.

"I go back and forth," Sara admitted as the conversation was winding down. "I don't know that I would ever want to risk buying into one religion's view over the other. Though obviously some are so ridiculous I wouldn't even go there. What about you, War?"

He sipped his Pepsi and sighed. "To be honest, I don't know what to believe anymore. I mean, I went to church every week with Grams when I was growing up. And I've seen things, and I've felt things, ya know? But I know what you mean. Sometimes it's easier to believe nothing than to be afraid all the time that you're wrong. What about you, Griss?" he asked. "Were you ever religious?"

"Yes." 

They waited for him to continue, but he didn't. Instead, he glanced at her meaningfully. _I don't want to talk about it. Please change the subject._

Her exhaustion made her feel a little uninhibited. So she just smiled prettily at him, elbows on table and chin on hands. And she kept looking at him like that. For awhile.

Grissom tried to wrap things up with Warrick, but he kept glancing at her distractedly, her expressions, which Warrick couldn't see, making him have to fight not to grin. He kicked her under the table, a little too hard, certainly enough for Warrick to get the idea that there was something going on.

"Wow, guys." But that was all he said; he'd chosen a good day to be diplomatic. He finished off his soda and collected his jacket. "Well, it's been fun, you two, but I'm about ready to drop. See you tonight, and thanks for lunch, Griss." Whistling, Warrick took his leave of them.

Grissom was looking at her, his mouth turned up in something that almost resembled a smirk. She stared back at him until he smiled.

"Okay, Miss Sidle, explain to me what just happened there, because I had the distinct impression that you were attempting to "out" us." 

"Oh, relax, Gil. I did no such thing." She finished her milkshake. "Are you about ready?"

"Sara!" he exclaimed, exasperated. "Do we need to talk about this?" 

"About what, sweetheart?" she asked innocently. 

He took her hand, and when he spoke his voice was serious, but his eyes were smiling. "Are you getting sick of having to sneak around?"

"No, I was just playing," she told him honestly. "And we're not really sneaking. I mean, it's not like we're carrying on some raging, forbidden love affair." Impulsively, she leaned across the table and kissed him. "We're still getting to know each other." Releasing his hand, she stood, her eyes sparkling. "So why don't you invite me over so we can get to know each other better?"

Leaving money on the table, Grissom stood and took her hand, leading her to the parking lot. "May I admit something to you without sounding like a dirty old man?" he asked as he approached her vehicle. 

"Hmmm... I can't make any promises." She laughed as he trapped her between him and the door of her car, his body flush against hers.

Close to her ear, his voice full of humour, he whispered, "I don't know how much longer you and I can sleep in the same bed before this becomes the "raging, forbidden love affair" you spoke of."

"Wow, that WAS kind of dirty," she said seriously, and he growled into her neck, making her laugh again. "Okay, okay!" she conceded. "So no sleep-over today. I get it." She kissed him again before he released her.

"That's not exactly what I said." 

"No, that's what _I_ said." She let him open her door and help her inside. "I need to actually _sleep_ today."

"You're lying." The accusation slipped out before he'd even had a chance to process it. After seeing the look on her face, he would have done anything to take the words back.

She paused, and then said quietly, "Well, if you're so smart, then you know why I'm going to drive away now."

"Sara, I leave in a few weeks. Let's not waste this time-" He was pushing, and he knew it, so he just stopped. It was getting very difficult to keep up with this woman.

It seemed that Sara understood he had some fears of his own, because she slid back out of the car and into his arms. "We've got lots of time. All the time in the world." If this lasts. "Let's not mess this up by getting ahead of ourselves."

Grissom was somber when he got behind the wheel of his own vehicle and started the drive home, alone. And perhaps it had been all the talk of religion that prompted him to pray. Pray that he WOULDN'T mess this up the way he had so many times before, with Sara and with lots of women in his past. Pray that she would start to REALLY trust him. Pray that their relationship would last.

**END OF PART 20**


	22. Part 21: Where interactions are comforta

**PART 21: WHERE INTERACTIONS ARE COMFORTABLE**

Work had become an excuse to be together, where it had once been a menace as they tried to stay apart. It was a safe place where they could flirt and play and be sure it wouldn't go too far.

Getting ready for work was a game they would play: it was whoever could get to the home of the other first and wait for them to wake up… or not wait. Grissom won the most, and would often sit on Sara's bed and talk with her as she got ready, leaving the bathroom door open so they could hear each other. They talked about a lot of things, reflected in ways they hadn't for a long time.

He had done this once before; they had talked about death. She had reached out to him --- "I'm not ready to say goodbye" --- but things were still awkward then, unsure.

How quickly things could change.

They started to bring each other food at work. They started to check each other's messages. They started to restock each other's fridges and run each other's errands.

And they started to laugh more. It didn't even matter if they were together. Life became delightful on so many levels, and so quickly that they didn't even notice the change in themselves or each other.

Others noticed, but didn't understand.

He didn't push her, even though this snail's pace must have been frustrating; they cuddled some in the evenings and kissed hello and goodbye when they were alone, but it hadn't gone further, and they hadn't discussed it or even felt a need to. Sara began to believe that this relationship was something she could safely invest in.

Grissom began to believe that one day soon he would be marrying his best friend.

Things were finally comfortable between them, and it made all the difference.

**END OF PART 21**


	23. Part 22: Where quarters are shared

**PART 22: WHERE QUARTERS ARE SHARED**

"You should come over when we get off work."

Grissom looked up from his computer, removing his glasses. "Pardon me, dear?"

Sara had finished what she needed to do a half hour ago, and had folded herself into the chair across from his desk. She'd been methodically going through his recent issues of a forensics journal with a highlighter, collecting fodder for future conversations, humming occasionally when she stumbled across a new fact, interesting case, or something she disagreed with. She knew he liked the company when he worked. "I thought you might like to come over, spend the day."

Grissom smiled, trying not to leer, but he was pleased as punch that apparently the sleepover ban was about to be lifted. "That's a tempting offer, but I need to start getting ready for my trip; laundry and such. I know I still have a few days, but I'm afraid we'll end up working overtime and I won't have a chance to get everything done."

"Okay. Then we'll go to your place. I'm very good at doing laundry." She stood and collected her things. "I'll meet you there."

_**Later**_

He'd been delayed, and she'd given up waiting. He found her sound asleep in his bed. He ambled to his bathroom to find that she had moved in --- her toothbrush was in the holder, her robe on the back of the door, her make up bag and hair dryer on the counter, and… yes, that was her shirt in his hamper. Before he got ready for bed himself, he started sorting the laundry. The room smelled like her shampoo; the air was still warm from her shower.

How was he going to leave her for a whole month?

Laundry started, breakfast eaten, showered and teeth brushed, he climbed into his bed. She was deliciously warm as he pushed as close to her as he dared, not wanted to wake her.

Apparently too close. Her eyes fluttered open.

"Hey. Where have you been?"

"Catherine caught me before I left; wanted to meet about some details."

"Of you going away?"

"Yeah."

She wrapped herself around him, breathed in deeply. "I'm glad you're here."

"I live here," he reminded her. "I'm glad YOU'RE here." He shifted so that they were nose to nose. He felt so blessed in that moment, and fairly sentimental about it. "Are you too tired to be thoroughly kissed?"

"Depends on how thorough, I guess," she quipped through a small yawn. "And depends on if it's by you."

There were more jokes to be made in response to that, but she was already kissing him, slowly, comfortably. He stilled his hands that seemed anxious to pull her closer; he didn't want to scare her, didn't want to lose even a little control.

"You're a good kisser," she mumbled as they parted and she settled her head on his chest.

"Am I? It seems I've bored you to sleep."

"Sleep? Yes. Bored? Not likely."

They spent the next two days together, after work, sharing his bed. She helped him pack for his trip, ironing his shirts and teaching him how to fold properly, finally noticing some of his less desirable bachelor habits. And with every hour that passed she became a little sadder.

The day he was to leave, he called her into the living room. "Don't you suppose we should say our goodbyes now?" He opened his arms to her, but she didn't go to him.

"No way. We still have several hours until you leave, and I'm holding out until the last possible moment. I really wish you'd let me drive you to the airport."

"But Sara, you're the one that said-"

"And you agreed. Why - " She stopped; there was no fight in her at this point. She was very close to crying, and needed to escape. Grabbing her overnight bag, she called, "I'll see you at work," and then she was gone.

When he went to pack up the final items, he saw that her toothbrush was no longer next to his, and he felt empty already without her.

**END OF PART 22**


	24. Part 23: Where seperations are forced

**PART 23: WHERE SEPARATIONS ARE FORCED**

Their final goodbye was less than satisfying. They'd both been hoping they'd be able to get away somewhere for a few stolen moments, that they'd both be able to say the right thing to ensure the other that when this was over, they'd still be there.

Instead it was a few words in the locker room, and not the ones they'd been rehearsing to themselves.

For the first week he called her every night before work. They talked for hours about nothing, about every detail of the lab, of his classes. Several nights she was late in leaving, and several nights he lost sleep, his body too confused by the schedule and time change, but mostly too worked up after getting off the phone. Nervous energy.

It was a decision they both made to stop calling. It wasn't helping things, they said; it was maybe making things worse, making them miss each other more. Texting became their new outlet, each promising that no matter where they were or what was happening, they would stop and read a new text.

Sara purposely texted him when he was in class, on several occasions. Eventually Grissom actually told the students that he had a girl at home, that this was the first time they'd been apart. He didn't know why he felt the need to reveal it, but his students seemed much more attentive after that, and stayed longer after the lectures to discuss different points with him. It was as though Sara made him more human, approachable, interesting.

He texted her during breaks, during meals, in the morning and before bed, and found himself waiting eagerly for a sign that the message had been received.

In the meantime, there were emails drafted and deleted. Letters started but not mailed. Phone messages rehearsed but not left. She sent him a batch of homemade cookies that constituted her third attempt, wanting them to taste perfect. He sent her a cocoon that he'd spent an evening traipsing through the woods to find.

They wondered a lot what the other must be thinking. They filled in a lot of blanks that would have to be corrected when they were together again; the danger of a long distance relationship, even when the distance is short-lived.

He still called, sometimes, and so did she, when they just couldn't take it anymore. And during these shorter conversations, tender things were often said.

And they each decided they didn't care any longer for sleeping alone.

He came home a day earlier than originally planned, surprising her. He expected to pull her into an empty room and make up for every moment they'd lost. Unfortunately, she'd spent several hours at the garbage dump, and wasn't about to let him any where near her.

"I'll see you later."

"Yeah. You will."

**END OF PART 23**


	25. Part 24: Where reunions are sweet

**PART 24: WHERE REUNIONS ARE SWEET**

After making the rounds with appropriate small talk, checking in with the team, and sorting through his mail, Grissom made his way out on the steps where no one would know to look for them. And he sent her one last text: _I'm hiding. Come find me._

She was there in minutes, her hair wet from the shower where she'd just spent a long time scrubbing off the smell and grime. There was only a moment of hesitation between them.

She leapt at him, nearly throwing him off balance. And then she cried as he began to laugh, both reactions borne of their relief. They clung to each other, not moving, not speaking, allowing all the tension to flow out of them.

They would be okay. They were okay.

**END OF PART 24**


	26. Interlude

**INTERLUDE: CHANGE**

Everything had been building up to this. They'd known that things would eventually change between them, but they hadn't expected they'd be so helpless against it.

Sara and Grissom were working together that night; Gil couldn't have known when he was handing out the assignments that this would be a mistake. It was only a day after he'd returned, but they'd enjoyed their tender reunion, and discovered their relationship was the same as they'd left it a month before.

There's was a 'friendship' built on comfort and communication, and they both coveted the illusion that a friendship could really be this way. The safety they found in what they had together was a precious and valued commodity in a situation that could have offered so much uncertainty.

Things were about to become uncertain.

It had begun in the field when Grissom had caught himself staring at her ass. Twice. This might not have been volatile, except that the second time, she had caught him, too.

The decision could have been made to laugh it off and let it go, but many poor choices were to be made that night. Instead she'd thrown him a comment heavily laced with double entendre, and the air between them seemed to develop a charge of some kind.

Their unspoken "hands-off" rule went out the window at that moment. The police officer at the scene didn't notice the change, but that night the two stood too close, touched too much, exchanged too many glances, whispered too much private conversation. 

On the drive back, Sara's hands were on the wheel and Grissom's hands were on her, touching her hair, resting on her thigh, rubbing the kink out of her neck. Discussion of the case was mixed with laughter and flirting.

There were red flags, but they were ignored. Neither of them expected that one night of letting their guards down would result in such a dramatic change.

He was hanging up his jacket in his office when he felt her fingers slip into his back pockets. Not long after things had warmed up between them, this had become her less-than-subtle way of indicating that she wanted some attention. At work, that usually amounted to a hug, a quick kiss, or just a casual conversation or the making of plans. 

This night when he turned and claimed her lips with his own, he did so with enthusiasm and purpose. And there was nothing quick about it.

He ravaged her. They ravaged each other. All past moments of physical affection had been as close to innocent as such things can be, but this was lust, undeniably. The door wasn't even locked, and they were groping each other like teenagers.

It was reaffirmed to Grissom that there was a God in heaven when they both stopped at exactly the same time. This would be important to them later when they would privately replay the moment in their minds, and would decide that their match of sense and restraint meant that there was no imbalance in the scheme of guilt and blame.

There was no recoiling, just a sudden loss of momentum. A movement of hands to places that were safer, but not a full break of contact. Heaving chests, laboured breathing returning to normal, a slight shifting of bodies to aid in the regaining of control.

Grissom took his hands from her waist and moved to pull the sides of her shirt together and do up the buttons, glad that despite his prior haste to disrobe her they were all still accounted for.

When their bodies came together again, it was in simple tenderness, as though they were trying to recapture the way things had always been. They held each other tightly, unmoving.

Grissom broke the silence. "This just became a problem."

"No kidding," she agreed bitterly, but he knew the emotion wasn't directed at him. Still, he felt a bit worried when she drew away. "Maybe we need to take a walk."

He looked at her curiously. "Okay..."

"Not together," she told him in no uncertain terms. Perhaps the only certainty they had left.

"In that case, we might be best served by getting back to work."

"We are at work."

"I'm well aware. Hence the problem." These verbal games were getting them nowhere. "In any case, I'M going back to work," Grissom told her. "If you're going to take a walk, perhaps it could end in the lab."

"Of course."

Neither moved. It didn't seem right for them to just leave without resolving something. But this was not the place for the discussion that needed to happen.

So it was Grissom that left first, making a brief stop in the restroom on his way to the lab. He splashed cold water on his face and checked to make sure all zippers and buttons were properly positioned.

The case. He needed to think about the case.

In the lab, he did what he could to push through and focus, but it was nearly impossible. In the twenty minutes before Sara joined him, he'd accomplished next to nothing, and wasn't sure he could trust what he HAD done.

Sara greeted him silently from behind with a soft hand on his back and lips pressed to his collar bone in the approximation of a kiss. "So where are we at?"

He loved her for her effort, but there was no way. Without answering, he reached for his cell phone and dialed. "Catherine, where are you?... Are you about done?... Excellent. Leave that with Nick to finish up and come over to the lab, alright?... Thanks."

Sara knew what was about to happen, and opened her mouth to protest. He stopped her by bringing his hand up to touch her face and smiling, however slightly. "Let's get this stuff ready, okay?"

She scrutinized him for a moment, but then she smiled back and nodded.

Catherine arrived a few minutes later. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

"I need to pull Sara and I from this case. Can you take it?" 

Catherine looked from one to the other, eyes narrowed, and it took her a moment to respond. "Gil, can I talk to you privately for a second?"

"No." His expression didn't waver.

She sighed. "Alright, I'll take it. Give me the run down."

After she'd been briefed, Catherine asked, "Where will you two be if I need to ask you anything?" 

"Home," Gil told her simply, revealing nothing. He looked at Sara, and she nodded, understanding. "Thanks for doing this, Catherine. Don't hesitate to call."

Sara and Grissom left the lab, stopping briefly in the hallway only to say goodnight before they parted company. An awkward but necessary moment.

Though the thoughts that ran through their heads were radically different in content and perspective, one common theme was present.

How much they hated change.

**END OF INTERLUDE**


	27. Part 25: Where terms are revised

**PART 25: WHERE TERMS ARE REVISED**

"If you're here to break up, would you mind waiting until I've gotten a few more hours of sleep?"

Sara didn't mean to be cranky. She just didn't do so well when she was awakened out of a deep sleep. Lying on her stomach, she'd been startled into consciousness by a cold hand pressed to her back, bare where her tank top had ridden up. At least she knew it was him. Grissom's hands were always cold.

"What if I'm here to MAKE up?" she heard his voice inquire.

She smiled in spite of herself. "I suppose we could do that now." She rolled over and was pleased when his hand didn't break contact; it was now resting gently on her stomach, a thumb straying under the thin fabric of her shirt, stroking lightly. It tickled.

It had been understood that when Grissom had said they would be "at home", they meant their respective homes. She respected his decision and his integrity.

"Friends definitely don't do what we did last night," he told her, wasting no time. "I don't know that I need to point that out."

"Nope. Figured it out on my own."

He was perched on the edge of her bed, facing her. He looked less confident than she thought she'd ever seen him. "Do we need to talk about birth control?" 

"Wow, Gil, cut right to the chase, why don't you?" Was he blushing? It couldn't be. "I'm not on the pill, if that's what you mean."

Yes, he was definitely blushing, but only slightly. She noticed that his voice got a little deeper when he was embarrassed. "We've never really talked about kids." 

"We've never really talked about any of this," she clarified.

"Have you been thinking at all about marriage?"

She didn't mean to laugh, but couldn't help it. She'd never seen him as being particularly old fashioned, but suddenly he seemed as though he belonged in a movie shot in black and white. "No. Should I be?"

"I have no idea." He sighed heavily. He looked tired. "Being friends was much easier than this." He looked at her sheepishly. "I don't suppose we could back up a couple of steps?"

Now, it seemed, their positions were reversed. Not sure how she should feel about the request, she chose to keep it light. "I'd say that's up to you, Gil."

"In what way?"

"Well," she told him with a straight face, "you're the horny one."

He blinked rapidly, trying to process what had just been said. "That..." he sputtered. "That was extremely juvenile."

She just laughed at his discomfort. "Relax, old man. There's nothing shameful about being hormonal."

"I'd just assumed I'd outgrown it."

"I rather enjoy that you haven't."

That got him. He chuckled. "Alright, cheeky, move over." He kicked off his shoes and flopped down beside her on the bed, though on top of the covers which were tangled around her legs. They didn't embrace, just lay next to each other and stared at the ceiling.

"Listen," he said, "all I know is that what happened between us last night was completely unacceptable. I mean personally, I recognized it as fairly inevitable. But professionally, it was... troubling."

"We've been doing really well," she observed wistfully.

"Extremely well. Couldn't have been better, in my opinion."

"So what changed?" she asked. "I mean, besides this fascination you seemed to have developed with my ass," she added with a smile.

He shook his head, amused. "I don't know. I've been thinking about it all night, but I just don't know." 

"Maybe it's like you said. It was inevitable." 

"When I said 'inevitable', I was referring to the act itself, not where it took place."

"Oh," she acknowledged quietly, thinking. "So just the fact that it happened, then, that doesn't bother you."

"Of course not." He paused. "Does it bother you?"

A longer pause. "You've been very patient." She rolled onto her side and draped an arm across his midsection, hand curling over his hip. She kissed his cheek. "That's meant a lot to me, more than you know."

"I'm not some elderly sex fiend, you know. It hasn't been THAT much of a struggle." He wasn't really offended, though a part of him felt he should be. "Our friendship is very important to me, and I think it's good we took the time to repair it."

"And then some," she added dryly, though her eyes were smiling.

"I can't argue with that." And they kissed, on the lips this time. 

Sara pulled away and wrinkled her nose. "You taste like breakfast."

"And you have morning breath," he told her.

She slipped out of his grasp and out from under the covers. "We need to brush our teeth, and then we should get some more sleep. Or at least I should." And she led him to the bathroom where they brushed their teeth side-by-side.

Back in the bedroom, she stopped him before they got back into bed and pulled his head down for a kiss. "Much better," she assessed, and to his surprise reached down to unbutton his pants.

"Sara..." he began warily.

"You can't sleep in those," she told him matter-of-factly. "They'll get wrinkled. Probably not a look you're going for if you're planning on going straight to work from here."

"I brought other clothes."

"You're not sleeping in your pants. Off."

Grissom chuckled at her assertiveness and stripped down to his boxers, feeling self-conscious. He let her remove his dress shirt as well, leaving the blue tee-shirt that he had on underneath. She hung them both neatly over a chair.

Sara lay still for quite some time, just thinking, enjoying the feel of his fingers and lips against the skin of her neck and shoulders. He had pulled the straps of her tank top down over her arms to grant himself freer access.

It was getting harder for her to think. Grissom may have been older, but he certainly knew what he was doing.

As if sensing the change in her, Grissom lifted his head and met her lips, rolling their bodies so that he was partially on top of her. Even as his tongue slipped over hers, it was obvious to Sara that he was fighting to keep control over himself. It still meant a lot to her.

His lips returned to her neck, and she couldn't help but squirm beneath him. She could feel him chuckle.

"Sara, I'm trying to be good here, but if you keep squirming like that, I can't be held responsible."

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," she told him, slipping her hands down his back and her fingertips just barely under the waist band of his boxers. He shuddered, and she almost felt guilty.

Almost.

"Sara Sidle!" he scolded. "You are not helping in the least!" 

"Better here than at work, I'm thinking." But she gently pushed him off of her and curled up against his side. "Okay, I'll be good," she conceded. "But this isn't nearly as much fun."

"We'll have plenty of opportunities for...fun."

"Yes, yes we will," she agreed. "So, you think we should talk about birth control, huh?" 

"That would seem like the responsible thing to do." 

"The pill is a pretty big commitment."

"There are other options. Not that I'm an expert in such things."

"I have a physical coming up. I'll have a chat with my doctor about it." Sara was starting to get sleepy again. "And I'd say we can probably wait a bit before we talk about marriage and kids, don't you agree?"

"Of course," he told her, yawning himself. Then he paused.

"What, Griss?" 

"Just, let's not wait too long."

**END OF PART 25**


	28. Part 26: Where trusts are exercised

**PART 26: WHERE TRUSTS ARE EXERCISED**

"I'm sorry, but the beard has got to go."

"And a cheerful good morning to you as well."

It was actually late afternoon, and Grissom had been trying to wake her with a romantic gesture, kissing and nuzzling her neck and shoulder. Apparently the romance was lost on her.

"It tickles and it scratches and it makes me itch."

He settled onto his back heavily, sighing. "You're in a fowl mood."

"I am _not_; I just happen to have very sensitive skin." She was playing with him, determined to get her way. Rolling towards him, her lips found his neck. "See?" she murmured. "Isn't it nice to be all romanced by someone with a smooth face?"

"Honey, if you had a beard, I think we'd have a lot more to worry about than your sensitive skin."

She laughed then. She couldn't help it. "Ah, come on, Griss. Do it for me."

He got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. "I certainly won't be doing it for _me_," he mumbled, plenty loud enough for her to hear.

"Thaaaank yoooou," she sing-songed, and settled back to wait for him.

Several minutes later, he called her name. "Can you come in here for a moment, please?"

She found him sitting on the bathroom counter, his face lathered with shaving cream. "Yes, dear?" She wasn't one for terms of endearment, and when she used them they always had an edge of good-natured sarcasm.

"I thought maybe since this was so important to you, I should allow you to do the honours."

Her expression was hard to read, and after a moment when she turned and left the room, Grissom's heart sank, and he sat there unsure of what to do.

And then she returned, having put on a robe over her pajamas. "It's cold in here," she explained. "I wouldn't want my hands to shake." She turned away from him to where he had left his shaving kit, and selected a blade. "You trust me?"

She approached him and awaited his answer.

"Intimately."

Her left hand went to the side of his face as with her right she began to shave him. He had spoken with such intensity, such formality. "You are such a geek."

His expression didn't change, but his eyes smiled. It was okay to be a geek around her. She could be trusted.**  
**

**END OF PART 26**


	29. Part 27: Where affections are spoken

**PART 27: WHERE AFFECTIONS ARE SPOKEN**

He hated that she cried, but he loved that she trusted him with her sadness.

He'd found Sara in the break room with Nick, who was trying to reassure her, touching her arm, her face. She would not be consoled. Then she saw him standing in the doorway, and began to move in his direction when she caught herself and stilled.

Grissom came to stand beside her, very closely beside her, and Nick understood that he was dismissed. The young man collected his things and prepared to leave, but as he walked by them, he paused for a moment and clasped Grissom's shoulder.

Grissom found he was strangely moved by the gesture, but was unsure why exactly.

For a long time he just stood with her, his eyes moving between the back of her head and the TV screen as the footage rolled. He'd given up long ago on scolding her for her emotional involvement in things. Someday she might learn detachment, but for now he would let her feel.

"I held his hand, just like I held hers. I lost perspective," she admitted.

Grissom reached for her, wiping away a tear. She looked at him for a moment, and nodded. His arm around her, he led her to his office, getting her inside the door just as the torrent began in earnest. Now he held her, rocking gently.

"We've all lost perspective; you can't blame yourself."

"I know," she mumbled against his chest.

"We can't always expect ourselves to be objective; we wouldn't be human if we were."

"I know," she said again, moving away slightly to wipe at her nose and eyes with the tissue she had clutched in her fist.

He took her face in his hands, gently moving his thumbs to brush away some of the moisture that remained on her cheeks. "I love you."

After a moment of shock, a sob caught in her throat and fresh tears sprung to her eyes. "I know."

Warrick knocked and then let himself into the room, looking for Grissom. A case that had been on the backburner had taken an unexpected turn, and they were planning on pulling a double. "Oh, sorry guys," he apologized when he saw them, and turned to leave.

Grissom held up a hand so he would stay. "No, it's fine. We should get going." He turned back to Sara. "Will you be okay?"

"Better than okay," she assured him with a smile.

He winked at her. "Then I'll see you later."

As Grissom and Warrick were driving though the city on their way to an interview, Grissom's cell phone rang. Without looking at the call display, he answered. "Grissom." 

"I love you, too," a familiar voice on the other end of the line informed him.

"I know."

And they both hung up.

**END OF PART 27**


	30. Part 28: Where activities are interupted

**PART 28: WHERE ACTIVITIES ARE INTERRUPTED**

Sometimes, they wrestled. It was this thing they did. It wasn't foreplay for them; it was just for fun. Neither cared to remember how it started, but every once in awhile a score was settled or a household chore was assigned by the moving of a coffee table for an all out grudge-match.

It was just for fun. It made them feel closer. And it was good exercise. Grissom was strong, but Sara was surprisingly strong herself, and had the benefit of being more flexible and agile. Grissom also usually didn't mind letting her win… unless the task in question was pots and pans clean up, like today. They'd enjoyed a late supper and now they needed to get ready for work, but they had a standing rule that dishes were not to be left in the sink. The dishwasher had already been loaded, but the pots and pans would need to be scoured by hand.

It was just for fun, after all. Good exercise. Not even foreplay, as would have surely been the case for younger, more hormonal couples. Just for fun.

Or so had been the case in the past. Today Sara's shirt had been pulled over her head and thrown across the room before she even fully registered what was happening.

She had tried to imagine what her first time with him would be like. Would it be romantic? Would they feel awkward and talk it to death? Would it make them sappy and sentimental?

Apparently the answer was no on all counts. There were few words, but lots of laughter as they fumbled their way into the bedroom and out of their clothes. 

Both their beepers sounded at the same time. They ignored them.

Grissom's cell phone rang. A few minutes later, so did Sara's. Also ignored.

He was just about to enter her when his home phone rang, once, than again, and then they could hear Brass' voice on the machine. "Gil, if you're there, it's really important that you pick up."

"Dammit," he growled, and rolled off of Sara to reach for the phone. "I'm here, Jim. This had better be good."

It wasn't good, and what Jim had to say left Grissom in no state to finish what they'd started.

"I'm so sorry, Sara. We need to go in right away." Squinting against the darkness, he found his boxers and slipped them on. "We can drive together; I'll explain on the way."

"You've got to be kidding me." After all it had taken them to get to this moment. This was definitely not one of the imagined scenarios, though based on the reality of their lives, it probably should have been.

He crawled back onto the bed, and starting at her ankle began to kiss his way up her body, saying "I'm sorry" between each kiss. By the time he had reached her mouth, she'd forgiven him.

Grissom went to collect their clothes from the living room, allowing her a little privacy to find something to wear to work, and slip into the bathroom to change.

He was anxious to go, but paused for a moment when she emerged, dressed and ready. "Come over here, Sara." He motioned for her to sit beside him at the foot of the bed. But when she approached, he all at once picked her up and threw her onto the mattress, then climbed atop and held her down with his full weight.

"What the hell are you doing?" she exclaimed through her laughter.

He kissed her, long and hard. "I just didn't want there to be any question."

"Of what?"

"Of who has to wash the pots and pans."

**END OF PART 28**


	31. Part 29: Where calls are placed

**PART 29: WHERE CALLS ARE PLACED**

Sara was at Grissom's, waiting impatiently for him to come home; she was planning on heading to her own apartment for the day so that she could intersperse sleep with getting the place in order, but wanted to spend a few minutes with him before she did so; the night had been busy, and they'd barely had the opportunity to say two words to each other.

She'd already opened his mail and straightened up, and was searching for something else to occupy her time when she remembered a phone call she'd received from a college friend earlier in the week that she'd yet to return.

That would do. She hopped on Grissom's computer, and awarded points for the picture of them on the desktop. She her friend, and dialed the number.

By the time Grissom arrived home, Sara was part way through the conversation and had relaxed significantly. Grissom settled himself in a chair with a book, pretending not to eavesdrop.

After about 10 minutes: "Anyway, I'm running up someone else's phone bill, so I suppose the polite thing would be to say 'goodbye' and call you back another day…. I'm at Grissom's house...Gil Grissom... You know...Yeah, my boss..."

Grissom smiled.

"Also my boyfriend, for your information..."

And then cringed. 'Boyfriend' seemed so...juvenile.

"Awhile now...Yeah, really well..."

He wondered to himself about the alternatives. What would he introduce HER as if given the opportunity?

"...You'll like him, I promise...Well, if you'd come to visit, you'll have the chance!"

'Girlfriend' would sound too silly coming from his mouth, but no other options presented themselves.

"...No, BEFORE the wedding would be preferable." She winked at him.

Hmmm. That was an idea. 'Fiancée' he could handle. But Grissom just smiled and shook his head. One step at a time.

"Oh, shut up...Okay, okay... You, too!...Bye." She pressed the "off" button and set the phone down on the coffee table before throwing herself onto the couch. "Lisa wants to know when you're planning to make an 'honest woman' of me," she told him.

Grissom didn't look up from his book. "Well, I was planning on some time after I'd made a DIShonest woman of you."

"You're SO romantic!" she exclaimed dramatically, throwing a couch pillow at him.

"At least I'm not a pest," he said in his best disapproving voice. "Can't you see I'm trying to read?"

"Fine, I'll leave you alone." Grissom watched out of the corner of his eye as she made a show out of making herself comfortable and then finally lying still.

Several minutes passed, and she just lay there, making absolutely no play for his attention at all. Yet she bothered him, in the best possible way. 

"Oh, hell," he muttered to himself.

"Something wrong, Grissom?" she asked.

"How can we get married if I constantly become distracted when we occupy the same space?" he complained. "At least while we're only dating I can kick you out."

She rolled onto her stomach and lifted her head, peering at him over the armrest. "Are you kicking me out?" 

Half-smirking, he lifted a hand and gestured for her to join him. "What do you think?"

She practically jumped into his lap. After they got comfortable, she took the book from him. "Why don't you let me read to you?"

"If you'd like." After showing her where he'd left off, he removed his glasses, setting them on the end table. He then leaned his head atop hers as she began to read.

It was a novel he'd picked up in the library set in pre-industrial Europe, and thus far the story line had failed to interest him much. However, hearing it in her voice gave it something of a heightened value.

As he listened, the hand that had come to rest at the base of her spine slipped under her shirt, seeking contact with her bare skin. It was a comfortable and near-unconscious action on his part, and didn't seem to register with her either.

Until suddenly, she slammed the book shut. "Grissom, you just undid my bra!"

He blinked, moving his hand to investigate. "So I did," he agreed innocently. "I'm sorry."

She rolled her eyes. "I was trying to help you get UNdistracted. Obviously I didn't do a very good job."

"On the contrary, you were doing an excellent job!" he assured her. "I promise, this is a case of my right hand not knowing what my left is doing!" 

"Whatever, Griss." Tossing the book on the floor, she sat up a bit and reached around to fasten her bra.

The book was abandoned. They sat together quietly for several minutes, talking about their night, expressing their dissatisfaction about not seeing each other during that time. Things were turning a bit too sappy, even for Grissom, when he decided he'd had enough. "So. Wanna wrestle?"

She just laughed. "Don't you remember what happened last time?"

"Vividly."

"Maybe tomorrow. I need to make an appearance at home. I have laundry to do and plants to water, and probably a host of things growing in my fridge that I should toss out." She climbed off his lap and collected her purse. "Call me later?"

It was only five minutes later when he called. She was in the car. "Hi. Need something?"

"I need you to come back."

"Plants to water. Laundry to do. Mold to toss. Remember?"

"You wouldn't have that problem if your plants and your food were here. And I have a very nice washer and dryer that don't require quarters."

"Um… I guess I'll take that under advisement." A mature response. Good Sara. That's good.

"I hope you will. Take it under advisement, I mean. See you at work."

"Bye."

30 seconds later: "Grissom."

"Did you just ask me to move in with you?"

"I did."

"Were you serious?"

"I was."

"Oh. Okay. I'll… uh, take that under advisement."

"Yes, I believe you said that once before. I love you, Sara."

"I love you, too."

And then she turned off her phone. She'd had enough for one day.

**END OF PART 29**


	32. Part 30: Where habits are broken

**PART 30: WHERE HABITS ARE BROKEN**

"Greg, can you excuse me for a moment? I think I've just been mugged."

Sara hadn't been alone with Grissom yet, hadn't allowed him to corner her, though he tried. It had only been hours since he had asked her to move in with him. Not enough hours to know what on earth to do about it.

She and Greg had been walking down the hallway, just talking. They'd approached Grissom and Brass, who were leaning against a wall and deeply engrossed in discussion. Sara didn't think Grissom noticed her.

He always noticed her. As she'd passed, he'd reached out and grabbed her cell phone from its clip on her belt, not skipping a beat in his conversation. Brass hadn't even noticed. Neither had Greg.

Sara noticed. She stalked back to him with her hand out.

He flipped the phone open, and then she could hear the familiar tune as he switched in on. Then he snapped it shut and put it in her hand, turning back to Jim.

"Thank you," she mumbled, and rejoined Greg, who was trying to figure out what was going on. "I must have forgotten to turn my phone back on," she explained.

"Ah. Right." His eyes narrowed for a moment, but whatever he was thinking, he must have decided to let it go.

Sara threw a look over her shoulder, catching Grissom's eye.

"So, stud, how's all that going?" Jim asked as Sara and Greg turned the corner.

"I _thought_ things were going fine," Grissom admitted. "Right at this moment I think I may be in the dog house."

"Forgot her birthday?"

"Asked her to move in with me."

"Oh. That'll do it." Jim clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, good luck with that." And off he went, whistling.

Well, that was helpful.

Grissom was more annoyed than concerned; she used to pull these stunts all the time, shutting him out, keeping her distance. He'd hoped they'd moved past that, but apparently not. It had been awhile since he'd had to handle THIS Sara, and even then he wasn't all that good at it.

This wasn't the place or time to talk about it, anyway, so maybe she was in the right by staying away. They were professionals. They were at work.

They were hopelessly wrapped up in each other.

His phone rang. "Grissom," he all but barked.

"Hi."

His voice softened, his expression softened, and despite himself, his heart softened. "Hi. I missed you today." He ducked into his office and closed the door.

"I missed you, too." The voice was in surround sound, and he jumped slightly. She was sitting on the edge of his desk, waiting for him. They put away their phones.

"You startled me, Sara."

"You startled ME." And it was clear what she meant. "We shouldn't talk about it now, not at work, but I just wanted you to know… Didn't want you to think…"

He was still standing by the door, and was feeling bad about being annoyed before. She obviously HAD changed, or she wouldn't be here. "I understand."

"Good. I'm glad." Now she was on her feet, approaching him. "Your place after work?"

"How about your place?"

This made her happy. She was smiling when she kissed him. "See you later."

Not all old habits die hard.

**END OF PART 30**


	33. Part 31: Where milestones are deferred

**PART 31: WHERE MILESTONES ARE DEFERRED**

"If I move in with you, and then this doesn't work out, I'm boned. You get that, right?"

Grissom had just walked in her door. There had been no hello, no greeting of any kind. Internally he cringed, as he always did when her youthful slang got more colorful than he was comfortable with. Maybe he _was_ too old for her.

"Uh huh. I get it." Appearing unconcerned, he walked past where she was sitting and went into the bedroom, where he hung up his garment bag and began to unpack his small suitcase. "Can I have a drawer?" he asked her when she trailed in after him.

"You're taking this awfully well."

"I know you well enough to know that sometimes you say things in a shocking way that doesn't necessarily reflect how you really feel."

"Are you calling me a liar?" She hated being analyzed.

He sighed. "I just want a drawer." This was as close to whining as Grissom came. "Can't I have a drawer?" He abandoned his task and approached her. "Can't I?" His hands went to her hips, and he held her steady as he buried his face in her neck. "Can't I, Sara? Can't I?"

She was very ticklish; he often used that against her. She giggled and pushed him away. "Okay, okay, you can have your stupid drawer."

He sat on the bed and watched as she cleared out some of her clothes and transferred them to the closet. "So, I hear you saying that the prospect of giving up your apartment is a daunting one."

"I said "boned", Grissom."

"Yes, I heard that, too." She delighted him when she acted this way, but he'd never tell her. "Well, I certainly can't promise that this is going to work out." _Though if it doesn't I imagine it will kill me. _"I mean, you're a loose cannon, ready to go off at any time. That kind of instability makes these kinds of situations-"

Yeah, he knew he wasn't getting away with that. Just as he hoped. "Um, it's hard to breathe with you sitting like that."

"If you can't breathe, you can't talk." She had pinned him on the bed and was straddling his chest. Despite her big talk, though, she did shift her weight and allowed him to reposition her slightly so he was more comfortable. "Is this not at all scary for you?"

"Sara, this is probably the most terrifying situation I've ever been in. But I'm not about to let fear run my life."

"Anymore, you mean." She smirked.

She had his number on that one. "Fair enough. So when is your lease up?"

"Two months, 6 days. I looked it up."

"That was reasonable of you." His hands had been resting on her thighs. Now they entwined with hers, as though ready for a Mercy fight. He couldn't guess who would be the first to say "uncle". "But you're not convinced. You're not sure yet if you really trust me."

"I trust you, Grissom. I'm just not sure that I trust myself." _Uncle._

That hadn't taken long. He pulled her forward, and she stretched out on top of him, his frame easily supported her weight. "You don't give yourself enough credit. And you're probably giving me too much."

"You're probably right. On both counts." She loved to be held this way. She loved the warmth of it, the intimacy. It made her feel safe to say things that under other circumstances she never would. "Grissom, you know full well you're dealing with damaged goods here."

He took it in stride. "We're all damaged, Sara. That's why when we find someone who loves us despite all the past has done to us, we have to hang onto them with all we're worth."

His arms tightened around her, and they were silent for a moment. Lost in thought. Then: "Well, Grissom, I'd say it'd make a great greeting card, but that was probably a little dark for Hallmark."

"You're probably right. Thanks for your honest evaluation." They both smiled then; despite their joking, a new level of understanding had been reached. "Why don't we get a dog? I've always wanted to get a dog."

She rolled off him then, not leaving the bed but sitting cross legged beside him. "I didn't know you liked dogs, Grissom."

"I think my dad would have let me get one, but my mother would have none of it." He didn't often speak of his parents, even with her. "Do _you_ like dogs."

"Yes, I do. But what would we do with a dog?"

"I have a fenced in yard. I even have a doggie door from the previous owner. Having a dog is great exercise. And, it would be something that was OURS."

She was warming up to the idea, but was always practical. "And what happens to the dog if we don't last?"

He sat up then; he didn't want to joke about that anymore. As firmly and convincingly as he could, looking straight into her eyes, he told her, "Sara Sidle, I am counting on this lasting."

She was awfully cute when she got emotional about this kind of stuff and then tried to fight it. He kissed her until she smiled.

So that day Grissom got a drawer, and Sara was promised one at his place, too. And a few days later they picked out a dog from the Humane Society. Sara had been insistent that they adopt a rescued animal. It seemed fitting to Grissom that this one thing they co-owned be damaged in its own way. Perhaps they could all heal together.

There was no more talk that week of Sara moving in with him. But the idea was never far from their minds.

**END OF PART 31  
**


	34. Part 32: Where days are good

**PART 32: WHERE DAYS ARE GOOD**

The dog had been a good idea.

They'd purposely made a big deal about how he was _theirs_, together. They shopped for food and toys and dishes together. They took him to the vet together. They walked him together. They bathed him together, though of course they had little choice; it was definitely a two (or perhaps even three or four) person job. By the end of the week that he was adopted, he had two of everything, one at each of their homes. 

What he didn't have was a name. They decided to let him grow into one, rather than assigning something arbitrary up front that might not end up fitting his personality. And so he was "the dog", or just "dog" when the rules of grammar demanded it.

Sara obsessed about the dog while Grissom obsessed about the miniature killer. He'd tried very hard to keep that out of their time together, but lately he'd grown more involved than he should have. When he started working on his own miniature of his office, Sara had at first freaked out, but backed off when he'd asked her. "Trust me," he'd said. It was a choice she had to make every day.

He took the miniature with him to her place one day, and set up a small table in her bedroom so he could work on it while she rested. He should have been resting, too.

It was that day when she found the letter he'd begun to write on his sabbatical – it had been tucked into a book he'd brought over to read, and she'd found it by accident.

It was that day when, through that letter, she caught a glimpse of a part of him he'd been hiding from her. A part of him that she knew existed but that he rarely let come out in her presence because she seemed to have little interest in formality and old-fashioned displays of affection. In trying to be relevant to her, sometimes he did things to show her how he felt that weren't really relevant to _him_. He didn't mind too much, but it made it difficult.

It was that day when she understood in a new way how invested he'd become in her. So much so that he'd had trouble expressing it. And then when he tried he had never sent the letter, probably afraid she'd laugh it off or not grasp the weight of it.

It was that day when the dog had an accident on the kitchen tile because they'd been so engrossed in their own thoughts that hadn't gotten him outside on time.

It was also that day when they first made love, uninterrupted and unhurried. And it was _he_ who cried when it was over, though it was she who was usually prone to that kind of emotion. She didn't begrudge him or think less of him for it, largely because of the new understanding his letter had brought. Because she recognized the tears of a man thoroughly blessed by the love of a woman who he would be hopelessly and utterly lost without.

It was a good day, that day. One of the last they would enjoy for awhile.

**END OF PART 32**


	35. Part 33: Where jealousies are discussed

**PART 33: WHERE JEALOUSIES ARE DISCUSSED**

Sara was just plain jealous. She didn't understand, and he hadn't tried to explain it to her. Well, yes, he had. She had told him not to bother; just to do what he needed to do.

Why do girls always say things like that? They very rarely mean them. She would need to teach Grissom that lesson some day, and the sooner the better.

She was at her apartment, stewing, and he had just called to say he was on his way, whether she liked it or not. She knew he'd been with Heather; he'd told her as much. She knew he'd spent the night there earlier in the week. She accepted his word that nothing had happened.

Grissom had also told her he'd never paid for sex. It occurred to her that maybe Heather hadn't asked him for money.

She'd left him a note at his place. "I took the dog. I'll see you at work." It was meant to be the equivalent of an angry wife packing a bag and going to stay with her mother.

She was sitting on the floor in front of the TV with the dog sprawled over her legs; they hadn't yet been able to convince him that he was too big to be a lap dog. Normally he ran to the door to greet Grissom, but not today. Apparently he was taking her side.

"Well? Is it all done?"

"It's done. We're done."

"And things are okay?"

"Better than okay. I think she's going to be alright."

"And you promise you didn't sleep with her?" She was mostly kidding. Mostly.

"You mean recently? Or ever?" He expected her to laugh. She didn't.

"I'm trying very hard to act mature about all this." And she really was. She was doing the best she could.

He sat on the floor behind her wrapped himself around her, hugging her tightly. "And you're doing admirably. I appreciate that very much. I know it's hard to understand why I needed to do this."

Apparently the dog felt that things were adequately resolved. He stood and licked Grissom's face.

"You can say that again." She stood too, but kept her tongue to herself and walked into the kitchen. Not so much resolved for her, he guessed.

"Well, boy," he mumbled, "hope you have room in your dog house for me." Grissom scratched the dog behind the ears, and then they both followed her. "You know, Sara, green's a terrible color on you." Bad idea.

"Gil Grissom, that woman is in the business of sex. I have to hear from Catherine about how Heather's the only one that she's seen rattle you, about how she's sure you spent the night with her. I think my jealousy is well founded."

She was emptying the dishwasher, putting away cups and plates with much more force than necessary. He was waiting for something to break. Hopefully her anger, before the glass.

"I'm sorry, Sara. I don't know how to talk to you when you're like this." 

He seemed so sad about it that it gave her pause. Without looking at him, she said, "You'll learn soon enough that at times like these,_ no_ way you can talk to me is going to do you much good. I wasn't running _from_ you by coming here. I was running _for _you." She continued with what she was doing, though some of her annoyance had been diffused.

When he didn't speak again, she finally turned towards him and found him smiling tenderly at her. "What?" she snapped.

"I think that's one of the sweetest things you've ever said."

"Oh, shut up."

Grissom left the room then, and she continued to putter. Eventually she ran out of things to do and went looking for him.

He was gone. He'd left a note that read:

"Sara,

I'm sorry I hurt you. Thank you for choosing to put some space between us so that you wouldn't hurt me back. This seems like a good system, though you should know right now that I'm always going to be inclined to chase after you. So please don't ever run too far or too fast; I'm an old man, remember, and I might have trouble keeping up.

P.S. I heard make-up sex is the best kind."

She laughed out loud. No wonder she was so jealous; she'd never had it so good, and it would kill her to lose him.

**END OF PART 33**

**a/n Three more short chapters will bring us up to the season 7 finale and end this series. If there is enough interest, I will start a summer series that will go beyond the finale, so please let me know.**


	36. Part 34: Where opportunities are seized

**PART 34: WHERE OPPORTUNITES ARE SEIZED  
**  
She'd left early to return the dog, but Grissom wasn't there. She caught up with him at work well over an hour before they were scheduled to go on shift.

"Are you here for the make-up sex?" he asked wryly when she stepped inside his office, then closed and locked the door.

"How did you guess?" She closed the blinds that made them visible from the hallway.

"I know you."

Yes, he did. Better every day.

Neither had actually expected it to happen, but one thing led to another and then he was taking her hard and fast, her back against the wall and her legs clamped around him. When it was over he gently lowered her 'til her feet touched the floor and they stood panting, leaning heavily against the wall and each other.

So much for acting professional at work.

Each had the sense not to voice their regret, knowing the other understood this could not happen again. Of course, their sense of regret was so weak in the aftermath of an experience like that they probably couldn't have crafted a worthwhile argument anyway.

Silently they dressed and went to clean up. And silently they entered into their second indiscretion when Sara pulled him into the women's shower room and locked the main door behind them. Their carnal appetites already well sated, they simply stood under the hot water, gently holding one another.

When Grissom snuck out of the shower room, nervous as hell that he'd be discovered, he was mentally kicking himself for his lack of control and these terrible choices. But it wasn't too much later when he became glad that these opportunities hadn't been wasted. Because who knew if they'd ever have them again.

**END OF PART 34**


	37. Part 35: Where futures are uncertain

**PART 35: WHERE FUTURES ARE UNCERTAIN  
**  
"We'll find her, Grissom."

Catherine believed what she said. Every available helicopter from every area law enforcement agency was already in the air, and every available officer and search dog had been called in and were being assigned. "One of our own" held a lot of weight in their line of work. Sara's face was all over the news, and a dedicated tip-line had been set up and was to be manned around the clock until her return. This had all happened in the span of two hours.

Grissom's team members were analyzing and reanalyzing the miniature, looking for any clue and calling in every theory to Jim Brass, who was helping to coordinate the search effort. They were all working just as hard for Grissom as they were for themselves, out of their own attachment and affection for Sara. They had been rocked by his sudden confession. For some of them, the pieces began to fall into place. Others were dumbfounded. But they were all too distracted by the task at hand to dwell on it.

Grissom himself had handled the interview with the woman who had set all of this in motion. Attempted to handle it. He'd gotten nowhere. It was outside of the interrogation room that Catherine had met him and given him her promise.

He just looked at her blankly.

"Gil?" She took his face in her hands, trying to get him to focus on her. "Grissom, look at me."

"I…" He couldn't form thoughts, let alone words. "I can't…"

"I know." She was afraid he was going into shock; she could see he was starting to shiver. "Come with me to your office, okay?"

He allowed himself to be led by the hand, like a child. It wasn't registering. Somewhere between his need to spring into action and his helplessness to know what to do there had been a collision. A crash. And he was shutting down.

Catherine sat him on the couch, tried to get him to lie down, but he resisted.

"Grissom?" She knelt in front of him, her hands resting above his knees. She waited for a sign that he had heard her. "Grissom, do you want me to call Doc Robbins to bring you something that will help you relax?"

"Catherine…"

"Yes, Gil?"

"I've lost her, haven't I?"

She embraced him fiercely then, though he barely responded. "Don't you dare give up. We'll find her."

He sighed then, and his head came to rest heavily on her shoulder.

"You need to sleep, Gil."

"No," he protested, but didn't lift his head, allowing her to bear his weight. "I need to be the one. I need to be there when..."

And then he cried.

**END OF PART 35**


	38. Epilogue: Change

A/N - It occurred to me recently that a happy ending had been given by the powers-that-be, but never reflected in this story. So here it is :) An epilogue to match the prologue, and a period at the end of a beautiful sentence.

**EPILOGUE: CHANGE**

Something had changed.

Grissom wasn't able to place it, exactly, but something had definitely changed. Changed in the way she looked at him, the way she spoke to him. Maybe it was because FINALLY she was actually looking and speaking again.

It had been a long journey in many respects; the last few days of connecting flights and ATV rides and hiking with the GPS had only been the final leg. And moments before it ended he had been feeling every minute, day, month and year. Despite the hope, he was exhausted.

And then there she was, alive and vibrant and whole and HIS. His exhaustion was blessedly forgotten, and it was a good thing; in the tropical heat of her cluttered but comfortable tent, it was hours before she let him even think about sleep.

Her preference in their lovemaking had always been to keep the lights out and her eyes largely closed. But when their bodies found their still familiar rhythm, there was no shutting out the light of the afternoon, and their eyes were locked in the final moments until their mutual release drove them shut in ecstasy.

When his body had nothing more to give --- he was not as young as she, after all --- he had braced himself to hear her confession, her regret, but it never came. Instead she spoke of her breaking, her healing. HER journey.

She'd stopped pushing. She'd stopped just living. And something had changed.

"I love you," Sara whispered as he began to doze off.

"I love you, too," Grissom murmured, pulling her closer. "I never stopped."

And he knew he never would. Because for as much as his whole world had been turned upside down but this beautiful, impossible woman, some things he would never --- COULD never --- change. Even if he tried.


End file.
